The Shipwreck Pirates: Tempest Tossed
by Disciple of Bob
Summary: The 2nd Arc of the Shipwreck Pirates! Hammie the reluctant but strong and resourceful pirate captain starts his journey on the Grand Line, but will the challenges of the Grand Line prove too much for him? Will he ever earn his crew's respect? TRIPLE UPDATE!
1. A Rocky Start

**Reverse Mountain**

The **Patchwork Princess** careened down the side of the mountain as the wind roared past it, chipping off the ice crystals that had formed on the ship at the high altitudes. Its crew had done all they can to make it this far, but there was no longer anything they could do but hold the course. Steering was impossible due to the rapids rushing them down the mountain, but that worked to their advantage since the river was a straight shot down the mountain. All six pirates stared down at their destination, the vast open sea of the Grand Line stretched out before them.

A large, blue fishman grit his teeth as he struggled to maintain some sort of control on the wheel of the ship, but it was all he could do to keep it steady. Better than crashing into the rocks, but one quick change in the current could run them into the jagged, rocky shores of Reverse Mountain. "Holding steady for now, but brace yourselves!" **Brody Martin** yelled out, but his words were drowned out by the wind.

Standing at the bow of the ship, inadvisably jumping up and down and cheering loudly at the sea before him was a shirtless tanned man with short red stubble for hair, except for the front hairline which was missing along with his eyebrows, "All right ye bloody bastards! Ye managed to kick me out once, but ye won't again! **Michael Collins** is here to stay, and anyone who says otherwise can kiss the business end of me Boomers!" Michael twirled the oversized blunderbuss pistols in and shot the air without a care in the world, despite their reputation for backfiring after repeated use.

The swordsman and chef **Takashi Nakamura** stood at the aft of the ship, unblinking even as the wind and rain swept into him. Even as the ship descended into the clouds and exited back out of them he didn't flinch or move from his spot, his black sleeveless gi and long, braided hair whipping in the wind. He stared silently at the ever-growing horizon, arms folded and multiple swords slung on his back.

"A little help here? Takashi? Anyone?" The **Doc** held on for dear life to his sledgehammer, having caught it on both sides of the ship cabin doorway to avoid being flung off the ship. His white doctor's coat, the trade of his profession, flapped wildly in the wind, a major problem since that's where Doc stored the majority of his medicines and syringes. His shaggy brown hair was even more disheveled than usual, the wind tousling it around. Only the two pronounced curls on his sideburns remained intact. "Damnit, I should've just strapped myself inside and gotten plastered. At least then I wouldn't remember any of this crap."

"Ah, but it's moments like these that the audience craves." A snicker came from the side as the first mate of the crew, **Jude Carson**, lay lounging on the railing, calmly munching an apple in this storm just to show that he could. Normally, Jude wouldn't dare set foot outside in this weather and ruin his fine, expensive clothing, especially since this was his last outfit. But the finery had already been ruined in a worthwhile 'confrontation' with a lovely Marine lieutenant shortly before. Once they reached calmer waters, Jude would either mend his current brown and gold suit and matching jacket, or find something equally fabulous to wear at the soonest opportunity. His rufflet and the comedy half-mask he wore somehow managed to stay intact, however. "The hero bravely stares at the oncoming storm with not a hint of fear or hesitation in his eye. The bumbling fool nearby struggles not to fall off the ship, accentuating the heroics of the protagonist in process. The rain on his chest, the wind in his hair…"

"How about my fist in your face?" the Doc growled back at the lazing actor as he struggled to get back to his feet. His attempt failed when the boards he tried to stand on immediately split apart, causing him to flail hanging from his hammer again. It wasn't the only instance as the cracking of wood could be heard throughout the ship. "Hey, we going to make it?" the Doc called out to a figure standing on the center of the deck.

Literally holding the ship together was the captain of this motley crew of pirates, **Hammie**. Although larger and more muscular than the rest of the crew, even the shark fishman Brody, he otherwise looked plain, wearing a bandanna over his blond hair, a black t-shirt over his massive chest, thick work gloves on his hands, and a tool belt around his waist. Currently he tugged furiously on several ropes that circled the entirety of the ship. The Patchwork Princess was not a sturdy ship by any means, having been cobbled together in the past week by villagers with no experience in shipbuilding whatsoever. It was a miracle it had survived this long, between the marine battle and the trek of Reverse Mountain. Now the ship was falling apart at the seams and the only thing holding it together was several lengths of rope coiled around the ship pulled tight by the strength of one man. "No problem!" he grunted, "She'll hold long enough." Another loud crack somewhere on the ship seemed to disagree with him. "Probably." Hammie briefly turned back to see that at some point the mast had completely broken off, its current whereabouts unknown. "Maybe?" Another series of loud cracks left a rift across the ship, which was now only two halves of a ship held together. "We're going to die," Hammie admitted to himself.

As he turned around, hope briefly made an appearance in the form of the end of the river leading into the ocean below. All they had to do was survive the impact. Once they were in calmer waters, he could see about possibly repairing or even just salvaging the ship. "Everyone brace yourselves!" Hammie repeated Brody's unheard instructions, but no one really needed them. Everyone grabbed ahold of the nearest sturdy part of the ship, a harder task than it sounded given the ship's current state.

Surprisingly, the ship didn't crash but glided smoothly from the river of Reverse Mountain to the ocean before it. As they left the storm back on Reverse Mountain, the sun shone clearly on the dawn of a new adventure. "We did it," Hammie dared to whisper, "We actually-"

Suddenly, the water before them erupted as a massive black shape thrust out of the water. There was no time to slow down or turn. There wasn't even enough time to jump off the ship. Each pirate only had a split second to process what just happened before the Patchwork Princess collided with the solid, blubbery black wall and exploded, wood and shrapnel being thrown in all directions along with its crew.

The whale only noted a brief itch on its belly. Where there once was a ship of six people, there was now only some floating driftwood. The whale paid the itch no mind as it submerged back underwater.

_To be continued... ?_

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

And here we are at the start of the second arc, currently labeled Tempest Tossed! I like that name, but I might change it later once certain plot-relevant.

I initially had some concerns about plot details contradicting unrevealed canon details, but have since decided, "Screw it, it's fanfiction." I'll try to keep this in tune with the canon as much as possible, but there's always the possibility that I'll be blown out of the water by the latest issue of One Piece.

For that reason, I'm introducing a new segment starting this arc to try and answer questions and maybe cover some details I don't find room for or forget in the chapter. Something like the SBS Corner, but I'm too lazy to do it myself so I've hired an intern. Take it away.

"Hi hi hi! It's me, Wendy Martin! That's **Mrs.** Wendy Martin now. /wink. Hey, how come I don't get any narration here?"

Because I already have to do these whole chapters. You can do it yourself.

"Fine... Anyway, I'm temping here behind the 4th Wall to help rebuild Jaggerjaw Island. According to Disciple, I'll be taking questions from readers via PM or review and answering them every chapter! I'll also be putting up profiles of characters, and which ones I post will be part of popular demand!"

But she's not allowed to post spoilers, so don't event think about it.

"Aw... what's the matter?"

Nothing!

"Is it because today's your birthday?"

What? No!

"Are you sure? I hear people get really depressed when they get older."

I'm not old, I'm 25! My birthday was awesome, I got Arkham Asylum!

"So now we know what to blame when you take too long between chapters."

Er...

"Speaking of which, I've been too busy setting up my cubicle, I haven't gotten to read today's chapter yet."

Oh dear...

"..."

Wendy...? Wendy? Oh god, Wendy please put down the knife.

_**"YOU GET THE NEXT CHAPTER UP AND MY BRODY BETTER BE SAFE AND SOUND!"**_

_To be continued...?_


	2. Beached

His head felt as if someone had decided to renovate the inside of his skull. That kind of pain when he woke up was becoming a pattern nowadays. He dared to open his eyes only for them to be punished by the blinding sun. Only now were Hammie's senses coming back to him. He lay on his back on a hard, rocky surface and he could hear waves crashing against the shore. A large shadow appeared over him. "You're awake. Good. I was afraid you'd sleep for a week like last time."

Hammie's vision focused to see Brody standing over him, simultaneously relieved and worried. "What happened?" Hammie managed to groan out before he felt a sharp kick to the ribcage.

"Well, glad to see yer well-rested. Now get us off this bloody rock!" Michael growled irritably.

"Quit it or I'll throw you back into the ocean!" If Brody had seen the kick coming he would've stopped it, but as of now all he could do was ineffectually scold Michael.

"Try it and I'll make ye the catch o' the day!" the gunner barked back.

"With what?" The fishman and the gunner locked foreheads attempting to stare each other down, "The guns that are clearly compensating for something? The ones without any ammo?"

"I could take ye with me bare hands if I really wanted to!" Michael stood his ground despite Brody being several times his size.

"You'd break your own arms trying to take a swing at me!"

Before Michael could put that theory to the test, two large arms reached up and grabbed the two's shoulders. Hammie groggily hoisted himself between the two before they could come to blows. "Could someone please tell me where we are?" The two glared at each other in a moment of silence before Michael stomped off.

"We're on the Red Line, the continent that divides the seas," Brody explained. Hammie looked around at the red rocky coastline that extended beyond the horizon in either direction, the wall of mountain behind them and the clear, blue, empty ocean in front of them. To his right some distance away he could see the swift, downward current and stone archways of Reverse Mountain. The only sign of civilization was an old darkened lighthouse nearby. "How much do you remember?" Brody asked.

Hammie tried to ignore the splitting headache as he tried to piece together events. "We were sailing down Reverse Mountain. We were just about at the bottom when…" He had already been losing consciousness from fatigue and blood loss when they reached the bottom of Reverse Mountain. All he remembered was a large, black mass rising out of the water. "…we crashed into a wall."

"Whale," Brody corrected, "We crashed into a whale.

Hammie blinked in disbelief. "Come again?"

As if to answer his question, a distant wail drew both of their gazes as in the distance a giant black whale surfaced and dove again. Even at this distance, Hammie could tell the whale was easily larger than most buildings.

"Huh…" Hammie stared in curiosity, "Was that a straw hat painted on it?"

Brody wrapped Hammie's arm around his shoulder, "Come on, let's get inside, you should probably sit down."

* * *

><p>The lighthouse was empty at the moment, simply furnished with a few basic supplies. Brody sat the captain down in one of a few wooden chairs and found some drinking water. "My head's still killing me," Hammie said as he massaged his temples, "Where's the Doc? I might take him up on some painkillers."<p>

The comment caused Brody to flinch, "Yeah, about that…"

"And for that matter, where are Takashi and Jude? I didn't see them around." Brody sat down and sighed, staring at Hammie somberly, "What?"

Brody took a deep breath to try and explain. "When we crashed, the current was too strong, and I only have two arms. I managed to get ahold of you, and I reached out for the nearest person. Unfortunately, it was Michael."

"GET OVER HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, YE BIG TUB O' BLUBBER! YE AIN'T USIN' ALL THAT MEAT SO SHARE IT WITH THE REST O' THE CLASS!" yelled Michael some distance away outside, throwing rocks into the ocean trying unsuccessfully to get the whale's attention.

"If I could have, I would've grabbed your brother instead. Hell, I'd rather have saved anyone else," Brody continued.

"It's okay, you did your best. What about the **Patchwork Princess**?" Hammie asked about the ship.

Brody shook his head somberly, "Completely totaled. I've been finding driftwood of it ever since we reached shore. I still haven't found any trace of the others though."

"Oh…" Hammie sighed, "That really sucks. I guess it's to be expected though. It's not like the ship was in great shape to begin with. It's a miracle it survived through Reverse Mountain." Downing the glass of water, Hammie got up and started rifling through the mostly bare cabinets of the lighthouse. "I guess we should take inventory and try to find some transportation so we can look for the others."

"But Captain, what if they… didn't make it?" Brody chose his words carefully.

"Nah, Jude wouldn't let himself die that way. Not flashy enough. And I haven't known Takashi or Doc that long, but they both seem pretty resilient. I'm sure they'll manage on their own for some time while we get organized."

"Doc bloody better be alive!" Michael growled as he kicked the door open, his arms too tired for now, "Bastard ain't goin' to croak before he makes good on our bet!"

Hammie and Brody both raised an eyebrow, "Bet?"

"Er, it's nothin'," Michael quickly changed the subject as he leaned back in a chair and kicked his feet up on the table, "We've survived worse. Just up till now, the lot of us have washed up from wrecks together."

Hammie gave a reassuring smile to the navigator, "See, Brody? They're probably relaxing on a beach somewhere. They could've even just washed up further down the Red Line for all we know."

The fishman wasn't as optimistic as Hammie, but didn't press his fears further, "I hope you're right. Then how do we look for them?"

"Well," Hammie reasoned, "knowing Jude at least, he'll probably get to civilization as soon as possible for some new clothes. At which point, he'll probably draw a crowd and put on a performance. Even if we don't go to the same islands, we should have no trouble hearing about it."

"Aye, and ye'll find Doc at the nearest friendly boozehole. Ye can count on that," Michael said as he took a swig from a dusty old bottle of grog he managed to pilfer when no one was looking.

Hammie nodded. "Right, so for the time being let's just take inventory of what we have and try to find a way to the nearest populated island. It doesn't look like I've lost any tools. Michael?"

The gunner shrugged, "Still got me Boomers, but the powder's been ruined until I can make a new batch."

"You make your own gunpowder?" Brody asked suspiciously.

"Not just gunpowder, freakshow. This stuff is a family recipe. The ingredients are common enough, I can get the necessary chemicals at any general store. Ye'd be surprised how many cleanin' chemicals are good for bomb-makin'."

"What's special about this powder anyway?" Hammie wondered.

Michael pulled out one of his oversized pistols as he continued, "Ye've noticed I don't really need to reload these? With regular gunpowder, ye strike a spark on the powder, it creates a chemical reaction which explodes and propels yer bullet hopefully into someone else's skull, but what ye have left is a bunch of useless soot and smoke in yer barrel. So ye have to clean the gun and reload and get new powder and all that hassle. With the powder for me Boomers, ye strike a spark and ye get the same explosion, but it doesn't turn into soot and smoke, it settles back into the same powder just as explosive as before."

"So that's how you can fire repeatedly without reloading," Hammie reasoned.

"Aye, but that lil' advantage wouldn't work if I still had to reload a projectile as well, so instead these Boomers just focus the explosion. Much shorter range, but much more satisfyin'."

Hammie nodded along. "That explains the open-air chambers."

"Ye are a clever one, aren't ye?" Michael laughed, enjoying the chance to show off his toys, "To get a spark ye need oxygen. Normal gunpowder has oxidizers mixed in with the powder so ye don't need to worry about it, but with this stuff for repeated blasts ye need more air for each spark, so each time ye pull the trigger the chamber slides open and lets in air for the spark."

"But wouldn't the firing mechanism be exposed to the powder?" Hammie asked.

Michael nodded. "Aye. Every firin' gets a lil' more powder cloggin' the works until the whole thing jams and backfires. The pistol itself is nice an' sturdy though, so it jus' needs a good cleanin' before it'll work properly again."

Brody crossed his arms as he chimed in, "So, no range to speak of since there's no actual projectile, requires a specific powder, open-air chambers means that any rain or water and the whole thing's rendered useless, and it has an increasing chance to blow up in your face with each shot. Why would anyone use this kind of weapon again?"

"Are ye daft?" Michael leapt out of his chair at the insult, lunging at Brody like an angry dog to yell in the fishman's face, "This here's the best kind o' weapon! One that'll always give ye a big, loud boom! So what if it sometimes booms in the wrong direction? Life ain't worth livin' without some risk!"

"But apparently life's just fine without eyebrows," Brody replied without missing a beat.

A vein on Michael's forehead throbbed in irritation, "Watch it, guppy, or I'll blow ye out of the water!"

"Moving on!" Hammie interrupted, "Brody, do you know where the nearest island is?"

Once again the two remained silent before breaking off their staring contest so Brody could reply, shaking his head, "If it were just me, I could swim until I found one, but that'd leave you two stranded. If you want to get anywhere on the Grand Line, you need a Log Pose."

"Log Pose?" Hammie had heard the term before, but wasn't exactly sure what it was.

Brody nodded, "It's a special kind of compass that locks on to one of the magnetic pulls of the island which render normal compasses useless. Once you get to an island, the Log Pose aligns itself with the magnetic pull of the next island, so you just follow it like a chain across the Grand Line. And if you don't know where you're going, the radical shifts in weather will end you before you can get to the first island."

"So we're stranded?" asked Michael.

"Pretty much. We'll need to hope some other ship comes by."

"And if no one ever shows up?" Michael questioned, "This place don't exactly looked occupied."

"True, but it doesn't look abandoned either," Hammie optimistically reasoned, "My guess is there's someone who comes by the lighthouse every once in a while to maintain it and clean up. We'll just have to make use of whatever supplies we can find and hold out for the time being."

Brody and Michael both scowled, unsure of whether escape would be that easy.

"Oh come on, guys," Hammie smiled cheerfully, "Someone will show up eventually. I mean for all we know someone could be outside that door right…"

Right on cue, there was a sharp rapping at the door. The three initially just stared in disbelief that someone could possibly show up so soon. A second knocking at the door a few seconds later sprang them all to action as they dashed to the door and opened it up, revealing a very surprised young woman, "Um, hello," the three stared in stunned silence at the teenage girl, not really sure she was there. She wore a pink, wide-brimmed hat and a cloud-patterned sky blue jacket, and she carried a green wicker bag. "Would you like to buy some cookies?"

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> So it all begins. The Shipwreck Pirates are earning their name pretty quickly.

Reviews are always welcome, and I'm taking questions about characters and stuff now.

Please?

Anything to get Wendy off of Skyrim.

"**FUS ROH DAH!** Wow this game is addictive!"

Wendy, don't you have something to do? Maybe posting a profile or something.

"Oh, all right, but you better be working on the next chapter! Otherwise I might try out that shout on you!"

*gulp* She could probably do it too…

"Anyway, here's the first listed profile. Hopefully we can do one of these per chapter or until we run out of characters! I might get a chance to go back and update these too. Our first profile is for easily the most popular, the most powerful, and the most handsome of the Shipwreck Pirates! That's right, it's everyone's most favorite character in the story: **Brody Martin!** YAY!"

* * *

><p>"<strong>Name:<strong> Brody Martin

**Age:** 22

**Gender:** Male

**Birth Date:** March 19th

**Species:** Fishman

**Occupation:** Navigator, formerly Captain

**Crew:** Shipwreck Pirates, formerly Tiburones Gemelos

**Bounty:** 5 million. The Tiburones Gemelos never garnered a huge reputation, most of their exploits when unattributed since they could strike their enemies from below the waves, and their primary objective was furthering fishman-human relations.

**Fighting Style:** Fishman Karate

**Attacks:** Oh by the way, I should mention that attacks with an asterisk are from the canon, so you can wiki them or something if you're curious.

**Hydro-Ken:** A projectile ball of water.

**Hundred Brick Fist***

**Two Hundred Brick Fist:** A double-fisted version of Hundred Brick Fist.

**Rising Thrust Kick***

**Flaming Ax Kick***

**Exploding Palm Bomb***

**Roaring Sea Lion:** Takes two separate crashing waves and closes them in around a target like a lion's pounce.

**Frog Leg Strike:** A crooked side kick, best used in the water.

**Coral Corral:** A technique to get behind an opponent and grapple them to set them up for other techniques.

**Dive Bomb Suplex:** A diving suplex that works best with the rapidly changing water pressure from diving to the bottom of the ocean floor.

**Fishman Karate Secret Technique: Dive Atomic Bomb Buster:** A spinning dive while holding the target and diving to the ocean floor, target-first.

**Fishman Karate Secret Technique: Diving Whale:** A utilitarian technique to soften the impact of landing on water. Can work on ships as well.

**Skills:** Brody's sailed on his own pirate ship for nearly a decade before joining Hammie's crew. He has a unique way of navigating: by swimming in the ocean he can read the nearby currents to let him determine nearby danger.

**Other:** Brody can't use his teeth to attack like some shark fishmen because they're filed down.

**Current battle record:** 0 total "WHAT! How is that possible? Brody's the best!" 1 win (Chapa), 1 loss (Kitsushi), 1 undecided (Natalie) "Oh..."

**Interview Quote:** "W-Wendy? What are you doing here?"

**Feelings about other crew members:**

**Hammie:** "He's a good man and a great friend. Seems a bit naïve at times, but everything I've seen of him shows great promise. I'll make sure to look out for him!"

**Jude:** "Not sure what to make of him yet. For a guy who talks so much he sure does like to keep secrets. Still, he is Hammie's brother, so he's probably a good guy."

**Michael:** "… Can we leave him behind? Or maybe fire him out of one of those damn cannons he loves so much?"

**Takashi:** "Still not as creepy as Torteau, so I'm cool with him."

**Doc:** "He seems like he knows what he's doing, but some of his 'prescriptions' make me nervous."

**Current goals in life:** "WENDY! I LOVE YOU! I'LL COME BACK SOON I PROMISE!"

* * *

><p>"That's all for now! More soon!"<p> 


	3. Gut Feeling

The Doc grumbled as he shook out the last drop of "medication" from his flask, sitting cross-legged on the edge of a small island. From what he could tell from the blinding sun, it was high noon, though it apparently been so for several hours. Every time he gazed at the sun, the pounding headaches grew worse. He could have made his way inside the tiny hut next to him, or even onto the nearby smaller island. It at least had a sun chair in the shade of a solitary palm tree. As inviting as either option was, they both meant getting up and moving, something that the headaches and blurring vision made less worthwhile. "I hate sobriety," Doc grumbled.

Adding to his nausea was a thick, putrid stench that covered at least the entire island, if not the entire sea. If he weren't a man of medicine used to such smells, Doc had no doubt he would be vomiting the entire time. It said something about the constitution of the other two on the island that neither seemed to be affected by the smell.

"_Full fathom five, thy father lies…"_ Jude began to sing, showing off his vocal range, _"Of his bones are coral made, Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change, Into something rich and strange, Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, Harke now I hear them ding-dong bell."_ The multi-talented actor could go from a high soprano voice to a low baritone and back again, and knew how to do so for maximum effect. Any of his fans would be swooning in admiration, but unfortunately his only audience consisted of Takashi and the Doc, both sitting on the edge of the tiny island gazing out.

"Any chance we're getting an intermission anytime soon?" called out Doc, massaging his temples.

"Oh come now," Jude smiled, "Surely you can't be telling me you'd prefer to sit in silence?"

"I'd prefer to be unconscious or at least drunk, but neither of those are happening anytime soon, are they?" Doc grumbled back.

"You both are so terribly dull," Jude said as he took a small clean cloth to the half-mask he still wore even now, polishing it to a shine, "The gunner might have been a foul-smelling vagrant, but at least he could provide a source of entertainment with his frustrations, although I don't know how you manage to put up with him on a regular basis."

"Preferable to present company at the moment," muttered Doc.

Jude turned back, his hands on his hips, disapproving at the offensive remark, "Excuse me, are you saying that that vulgar little weasel has something I lack?"

"YES! PANTS!" Doc yelled back.

Jude glanced down at his body, completely naked except for his mask, and back unashamed, "I can't very well wear clothes that are still drying, now can I? And unfortunately all of my best outfits remain in their watery grave at the bottom of Jaggerjaw Bay," Jude walked back over to a freshly rigged clothesline where his elaborate brown and gold jacket and pants were hanging after being freshly cleaned, "I shall have to find a good boutique as soon as we reach somewhere civilized. Besides, the human body is nothing to be ashamed of, especially not one as perfect as mine. You're a doctor. Surely you of all people are not squeamish about the human anatomy."

Doc grimaced as he stared out at the sea determined not to catch any of Jude in his field of vision, "The only time I want to see a man in his birthday suit is if he needs to be patched up. If you were a buxom babe I might think differently."

Suddenly, Jude's form landed directly in front the Doc, having somehow leapt into the air without making a sound or rousing Doc until it was too late, and Doc, sitting cross-legged on the coast was at the worst possible eye level, "So you admit under the right circumstances you would like to see a man in the nude?"

"NO!" Doc leapt back even from his sitting position a good ten feet landing on his feet, "GET A TOWEL OR A BARREL OR SOMETHING!"

"Like a peasant? I'm not that desperate," Jude scoffed, "I was fortunate enough to find the supplies necessary in the hut to patch my clothes together. If the bed sheets had a decent thread count I might've been able to fashion a toga, but whoever lives here apparently prefers a bed with the texture of sandpaper. I was ready to throw away that outfit the condition it was in before, but I couldn't pass up such an opportunity!"

"Opportunity?" Doc asked as he determinedly stared at the grass, keeping only Jude's feet in his field of vision.

"Yes!" Jude's voice suddenly launched into an ecstatic tone of joy, overproncounced as most of his emotional states were due to his tendency to perform everything, "An opportunity for a truly unique ensemble, one that will push me ahead of the fashion curve on every island! These clothes will become the foundation for my new wardrobe! One unlike anything ever designed before!"

Doc stared at the expensive-looking outfit hanging on the clothesline. Jude had done a great job repairing and cleaning it after it was soaked in seawater, something that couldn't have been easy with that kind of fabric, "It looks the same as before."

"Not the looks, you simpleton, the smell! Take in that scent!" Jude took a deep breath as if the air were scented with flowers.

"What are you talking about? It smells like something died in here!" Doc afforded himself a small sniff just to make sure he wasn't missing something, and immediately almost gagged on the vomit-inducing stench.

"Really, Doctor? I'm surprised," Jude scolded, "You of all people should be able to appreciate the meaning of this smell. Otherwise, you'll forever remain a bachelor."

"You are not telling me you actually enjoy smelling this... this…"

"Bile," Jude finished for him, "Whale bile. Or to be more precise, ambergris." Doc's eyes widened as he started to follow Jude's logic, "I see you're starting to catch on. Of course this smells repugnant for now. Ambergris always does before it has time to dry and ferment. Once it does though it's a product of the highest-quality perfumes, and right now that outfit is soaking in the stuff."

"Where'd you get ambergris?" Doc asked.

"Doctor, doctor, doctor," Jude shook his head, "Please tell me you aren't that dense." Doc's silence spoke for him. "Fine. What do you see all around you?"

Doc shrugged, "Seawater as far as the horizon goes."

"You truly are dense. There is no horizon to see at the moment," Doc pointed in a random direction at what he still thought was the open sea and sky, "Where the water meets a wall is not a horizon."

"Wall?"

"Of course! You don't think that's actual sky, do you?"

Doc glanced at the 'horizon' again, but with his senses dulled by a lack of stimulants in his system, he couldn't spot anything unusual. "Sure seems like it to me."

"The 'sun' staying in one place in the sky for several hours?"

"That did seem kind of weird," Doc admitted.

"The 'clouds' and 'birds' still on their canvas?"

"Look like they're moving to me, but then again, everything's still kind of spinning in my head."

"That giant door right over there?" Jude pointed to the giant closed gateway that seemed to jut out of the water, big enough for a ship or several to pass through.

"I figured that was a hallucination of mine. I get those sometimes when I'm too sober." Doc's brain was still pounding too much for logic to be of much use at the moment. "So you're saying that's not the sky, so what, we've been inside this whole time?"

"You're the supposed Grand Line veteran, I should not have to explain these things to you. Think about our most recent circumstances."

Doc grumbled as he struggled to recall the events leading to them getting trapped on the island, "We're inside that whale? But where is the light coming from? And this ocean?"

"The ocean is part seawater part stomach acid and bile," Jude continued to explain, "That's where the stench is coming from. As for the light, my first guess would be fluorescent moss mixed in with the paint to give it the sky-like feel, but I have heard a few tales regarding someone living inside one of these Island Whales and setting up an entire metal catacombs complete with electric lights on the inside."

"How do they manage that?"

"You'd have to ask my dear brother for that. He's the engineer. I'm the talent." Doc got the distinct impression that Jude probably could figure it out if he wanted to, but that this sort of thing was somehow beneath the actor, before his thoughts turned elsewhere.

"Come to think of it, you think there's a way to escape?"

"As long as this isn't the only chamber, then I suppose it's possible," Jude smiled, "I take it you are proposing…"

"An exploratory procedure as they'd call it in the biz, yeah," Now that Doc was forcing himself to focus, he noticed the ladder on the side of the gate leading up to a smaller man-sized door several stories up. "The problem is getting from this island to there."

"My clothes are freshly cleaned, I am not swimming."

"I wouldn't recommend it anyway, not when the water's at least partly stomach acid. If this island is actually a floating vessel of sorts, we might be able to propel ourselves over there. Takashi, can you give us a boost?" Doc called out to the third member of their stranded party, who until now was either meditating, sleeping, or just trying to ignore everyone and everything else on the island. Even at Doc's request, Takashi gave no sign that he heard or acknowledged him.

"Takashi? Come on, we could use a little help here," Doc pleaded.

"Oh leave him alone. The poor dear is probably heartbroken losing all those precious swords. Not a single one left, is there?" Jude said smiling.

Takashi immediately bolted upright, stood up, and walked over to the house. **"Mutoryuu…"** With one calculated strike he thrust his arm palm-first into the side of the wall, shattering it, **"Nigirizushigiri! (Hand-Pressed Sushi Strike)"** Leaving a giant hole in the side of the house, Takashi picked up three of the splintered boards. Doc and Takashi watched with curiosity as Takashi calmly walked to the far side of the island. **"Santoryuu…" **Standing on the very edge of the island, Takashi positioned his swords and spun them around,** "Three Thousand Worlds!"** The island shot towards the gate, having its own propeller pushing it from the rear. Right when it looked like they were going to crash into the gate, Takashi finally ceased his 'attack' and the island drifted until it tapped the gate, leaving the pirates in reach of the ladder and only visible exit. "The sword does not define the swordsman. The swordsman defines the sword." Tossing the boards to the side, Takashi crossed his arms and resumed his silence.

"Very zen. Let's go," Doc hurried the other two along after making sure Jude finally got dressed in his clean but still foul-smelling clothes, "Jude, the clothes stay on."

"No promises," the actor winked.

* * *

><p>After climbing the ladder and entering through the door, it was like entering an entirely different world. Instead of a chamber large enough to hold an ocean's worth of water with a bright blue sky painted all over the interior, now they were in a series of tunnels lined with metal plates and electric lights. The walkway traveled along a canal that lead from the whale's stomach along a path that Doc and the others hoped would lead to an exit. The path was mostly straightforward, but there were a few side rooms and detours.<p>

"Hard to believe this is all inside a whale. You could build a city in here," Doc's voice echoed throughout the metal tunnels.

"And yet the lack of living quarters suggests that only one man actually lives here. Most of these spare rooms appear to be storage facilities," Jude noted as the group traveled along the walkways, searching the nearby rooms.

Doc opened one door to find a large arsenal of harpoon guns and other large firearms, "Big guns. Anyone want?"

"How crude. I'll pass," Jude scoffed as Takashi kept walking along the path, never deviating from it despite the other two's insistence on exploring.

"Yeah, I don't feel like lugging it around either," Doc said as he closed the door thinking about how if Michael were here he'd go crazy over such a find.

"There must be a spare rowboat or something around here," Jude sighed irritably. He was expecting much more of a dramatic adventure, but the tunnels seemed to be empty and even the contents of the storage rooms were surprisingly dull.

"Jackpot!" Doc yelled from a few doors down.

"You found a boat?" Jude asked hopefully, ready to leave.

"Nope, better!" Jude followed Doc into the room to find a giant syringe needle, larger than some ships, pointed at a hole in the metal paneling revealing exposed whale-flesh, the first sign of actually being inside a living creature. The syringe was surrounded by barrels full of an odd-colored liquid, but Doc immediately recognized it, "Whale tranquilizer, and tons of it! Now this stuff I'll stock up on. Can't wait to see what kind of cocktails I can make with this!"

"Truly you have the palate and stomach of a mentally-challenged ogre," Jude said deadpan.

"Just keep it to yourself, pretty boy," Doc said as he grabbed one of the barrels and strapped it to his back with some nearby leather strips, "If I find any feminine products I'll let you know."

"Come to think of it, I probably should have stocked up more on the ambergris. That would have paid my… er, our way for some time," Jude thought out loud.

Doc paid no mind as he finished strapping the barrel to his back. Right as he was done securing it, there was a splash further down the hallway. Jude and Doc looked out to see Takashi setting up a rowboat from the first door the swordsman had bothered to investigate.

"I believe it is time for us to take our leave," Jude smiled as he and the Doc boarded the rowboat, Takashi already having secured two oars and taking the helm, "So how do we make our exit?"

"This canal has to lead somewhere," Doc reasoned.

"I'd prefer to avoid the rear entrance if possible."

"You don't say," Doc rolled his eyes. Takashi rowed the boat along the canal until they finally came to another large gate not unlike the previous one. This gate, however, had a rope attached to some sort of pulley mechanism hanging just inside reach. "I guess we just pull this?" Doc reasoned as he tugged on the rope. As soon as he did, the entire tunnel started violently shaking as the water splashed back and forth in the canal, rocking the boat to where everyone had to grab the sides to keep from falling overboard. The shaking actually caused the light to flicker on and off routinely throwing the group into pitch-black.

"You pulled the self-destruct mechanism!" Jude shouted before breaking into a nervous song, slowly rising in volume and intensity. _"There's no earthly way of knowing, Which direction we are going, There's no knowing where we're rowing, Or which way the river's flowing. Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is a hurricane a blowing? Not a speck of light is showing, so the danger must be growing, Are the fires of hell a glowing? Is the grisly reaper mowing? Yes! The danger must be growing, For the rowers keep on rowing, And they're certainly not showing, Any signs that they are slowing!"_

For a moment Doc thought Jude had completely cracked, but a few lines into the poem he remembered the first mate's penchant for exaggeration, "I know how difficult it is for you, but don't be dramatic. Whoever lives here knows enough about medicine to properly sedate a giant whale and build a fortress inside it. If I had to guess I'd say this activates something which pokes and prods some nerves or gland to get the whale to surface. Once the pressure's stable, the doors will open," Doc explained even as he struggled to keep the contents of his stomach intact between the stench of the stomach bile water and the churning waves. After a few very long minutes, the tunnel finally stopped shaking and the gate slowly opened. "See?"

"You two make a horrible audience. Couldn't you at least pretend to be scared?" Jude pouted.

Doc rolled his eyes and avoided answering as Takashi resumed rowing for the boat to exit the tunnels as Jude and Doc looked back at the blubbery walls of what was indeed a giant whale. Once they were well clear of the gate it closed again and the whale slowly swam off. Jude sighed, "How dull. I was hoping for more of an explosive escape."

"I thought you didn't want to use the rear entrance," Doc mocked.

"How vulgar," the actor scolded. "I hope one of you knows where to go from here."

Doc shook his head, "No navigator. No map. No log pose. And the weather near Reverse Mountain is known to change violently by the minute."

"It better not rain when I've only just dried my clothes!" Jude complained.

Doc took a few cautionary sniffs, "Still smells like bile by the way."

Jude turned his nose up in indignation, "It's dry, it just needs to ferment into perfume. It will take some time, but the result will be worth it."

Doc sighed and did his best to try and ignore the smell in these close quarters. "Let's hope that we run into an island soon. We don't exactly have any fishing gear with us. So which direction do we go from here?"

"How about towards the island?" Jude pointed directly behind Doc, who turned and squinted until he could make out the vague, blurry shape in the distance, an island covered by what looked to be giant cacti.

The doctor winced as Jude smirked for pointing out the obvious that Doc missed, "Damnit! I need a drink. My vision's starting to go from being too sober."

"You, good doctor, have a drinking problem."

"No, I've pretty much got it figured out."

Takashi the meanwhile seemed to take no notice of the two bickering as he rowed towards the island as clouds already started to form in the sky. A loud screeching briefly drew their attention to a giant bird high up in the sky flying past.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in the belly of the whale, a small submersible surfaced from the bile seawater next to the solitary island. The hatch popped open and an old man with a flower-reminiscent hairdo stepped out and looked over his hut.<p>

"THE HELL?" The surly old doctor known as Crocus looked over the damage and his raided kitchen and bedroom. "Damn tourists!" he cursed loudly as he set to work trying to fix up the mess and repair the damages. "Laboon's surfaced. Ain't no one here. The only place they could possibly be headed for is… oh no…" The surly doctor's eyes widened as he slowly started to realize the horrible fate that was to befall whoever was just here. "Eh, screw 'em." Crocus broke out of his trance of dramatic tension, picked up a week-old newspaper, and made his way over to the smaller island to relax in the sun chair.

_To be continued…_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Boring chapter for me. The dynamic between those three is surprisingly difficult to write.

"That's because you didn't have Brody or me in the chapter!"

For the last time, Wendy, you're not in this arc.

"Aww, but I'm perky! :'( "

Oh great, she's gotten into the emoticons. This isn't going to end well.

":P"

Don't you have a profile to post?

"Oh, knew I forgot something! Here we go! Profile number two!"

"**Name:** Dr. Jonas "Doc" Holiday. (("Am I supposed to know that name or something?" Quiet, you. ":( " ))

**Age:** 43

**Gender:** Male

**Birth Date:** July 21st

**Occupation:** Doctor

**Crew:** Shipwreck Pirates, numerous previous employers.

**Bounty:** Removed from bounty list due to him, Micheal, and Takashi causing more damage to the pirate crews they were on than they were worth. Is there more behind the story than that, though?

**Equipment:** A sledgehammer which doubles as a walking stick for when Doc's not feeling too good. It has 'anesthetic' written on it, and Doc calls the hammer 'Annie' for short. He also has a large variety of homebrewed medicines and drugs, most not safe for human consumption.

**Abilities:** Don't let him fool you, Doc's good at what he does and that's patching up people. He got his medical training from one of the best academies in the world and graduated at the top of his class, and he specializes in pharmaceuticals. (("So why is he a pirate-doctor and not a doctor-doctor?" Stop trying to make me give spoilers! "Too late :D" )) He has a tolerance for most things. Poisons and other such chemicals don't really work on him once his body adjusts. And he uses his different medicines to make him stronger, faster, or lots of other things.

**Weakness:** Doc spends so much time with booze or his own stuff in his system, being sober is actually painful for him and he can't think clearly.

**Win Record: **-2 (("WHAT? How does that work?")) VS Chapa: Lose, VS Mambo: Win, VS Chapa: Lose, VS Douglas: Lose. (("We need Hammie and the rest of the crew to kick more butt!" I'm working on it!))

**Interview Quote**: "Now I know I need a drink…"

**Feelings about other crew members:**

**Hammie: **"I'll admit the kid's got some surprises to him, but he didn't need to be dragged into our line of work."

**Jude:** "Loves to listen to himself talk, and right now I'd love nothing more than to stop listening to him talk."

**Michael:** "He's loud, obnoxious, and annoying, but he kind of grows on you after a while. At least things are never dull when he's around."

**Takashi:** "All the years I've known him, and I'm still not sure if I've got him figured out. He might be the silent type, but trust me, the guy knows how to party."

**Brody:** "Shame all the crap that happened to him, especially that plague that hit his island. He's got a good head on his shoulders and he knows what he's doing. But he needs to stop mutilating himself every time he gets lovesick."

**Current goals in life: "**Find the others. If it comes up, I better look into this Dr. Wilhelm Cancer. But most importantly of all, I need a drink. Right. Now."

* * *

><p>"Profile 2 of 6 for the Shipwreck Pirates! More soon! And if you want questions answered in this section, just send them in a private message or put them in a review! It gets him off Skyrim at least!"<p> 


	4. Closer Than You'd Think

Captain Douglas strode purposefully through the well-lit pristine halls, ignoring the other marines posted throughout the base as First Mate Vezzali struggled to keep up. "Captain, you need to rest!" she pleaded, "You're in no condition to be up and moving around!"

Douglas didn't lose pace as he sharply turned a corner, his captain's jacket flapping behind him as it rested on his shoulders, exposing his bronze, chiseled torso. Douglas had no trouble navigating the corridors since most of these marine bases had similar architecture, so the head office would likely be in the same place as it was at his own. "Vezzali, who's in charge here?"

"Rear Admiral Doctor Barnabus Zoo," Vezzali said instantly from her mental rolodex before continuing her protests, "You can't just barge into his office and demand a ship!" It didn't help Vezzali's nerves that she was very much out of uniform. Instead of her bleach-white fencing gear which was in tattered rags at the moment, she wore a plain t-shirt and regulation slacks, feeling exposed without so much usual fencing mask. At least her epee remained holstered at her hip.

"I wasn't going to demand anything. I was just going to ask politely while stressing the urgency of the situation." Vezzali had seen the captain 'ask politely' before. It almost always ended badly.

"What urgency? You still haven't told me anything about what's going on!"

"Nor will I until I can confirm my suspicions. Hopefully this is all just some strange coincidence." Instead of his usual confident grin, Douglas's face was locked in a stone-cold stare.

"What is?" The situation only worried Vezzali more. It was unlike her captain to keep information to himself, much less from her who managed and organized all of his duties and affairs.

This time Douglas only replied with his silence. Around that time, a brief blur streaked next to them as Chapa, in his usual cabin boy uniform, rejoined his captain. "The men are ready to go when you are, Cap!"

Douglas gave a brief smile. "Good work, Chapa. Now all we need is a ship. The head office should be right around here," he said as he threw open the doors blocking his path with his two subordinates close behind.

The three found themselves in a reception area so clean and sterile it could have been a surgery ward. The walls were pale white and bare, not even a single poster of a struggling kitten saying "Hang In There" or the like. There were just three stiff-backed wooden chairs that looked terribly uncomfortable and a single desk devoid of pictures, office plants, or any other items of personality or luxury, situated in front of a set of thick double doors that Douglas knew could only lead to the Rear Admiral's office. Douglas couldn't help but think even his own neat-freak mother would be perturbed by the sterility of the place.

Sitting at the desk was a woman who seemed more like a cutout of some employee handbook. Her hair was too neatly tied back, her professional suit too pressed with no wrinkles, her entire body just too symmetrical.

"Captain Douglas I presume?" asked the receptionist looking up emotionlessly from a handwritten notebook with notes so rigid they looked typed.

"Excuse me, is the Rear Admiral in?" asked Douglas quickly, not wanting to waste any more time.

"Indeed," the receptionist adjusted her glasses to be just a little more symmetrical as she stood in front of Douglas with all too perfect posture. "However, he is currently not seeing anyone. If you go back to your room I will inform Dr. Zoo and he will be in to examine you as soon as possible."

"Sorry, Nurse, but I'm in a hurry," Douglas said as he tried to push the woman to the side. When his hand drew close, the 'nurse's' black-gloved hand shot up in a sudden blur. Although Douglas knew the woman hadn't actually touched him, he felt some invisible force pull him back towards the door he came in, throwing him into one of the wooden chairs and knocking it to pieces.

"I am not a nurse. I am a secretary," corrected the self-described secretary with the same tone as a stern grammar teacher, "And Dr. Zoo is a busy man. He will see you when he has time to do so."

"Hey, leave the captain alone you big bully!" Chapa immediately crouched into a defensive stance, ready to go all-out to defend his captain.

"Careful, Chapa!" Although Vezzali's hand instinctively reached for her sword, she kept it sheathed for now. She too saw that whatever the woman's attack was, she hadn't actually touched Douglas with it. Her thoughts turned to the possibility of a Devil Fruit user, and whether or not she, Chapa, or even the captain would stand a chance.

The secretary brought up her arm again in a stance completely unfamiliar to either of the other marines, "You should maintain better control over your subordinates, Captain. Such disrespect for their superiors could be quite problematic for them in the future." She stood completely still in her stance, waiting for someone else to make the first move. "Current orders are to make sure you stay confined to bedrest until Dr. Zoo can confirm your condition. I hope I would not have to remind you that as the First Officer of a Rear Admiral, I outrank all three of you."

As the three stood waiting for the other to make the first move, a broken voice sounded from the secretary's desk. "Ms. Cross, by any chance would that be Captain Douglas?" spoke the snail on the desk: the Den Den Mushi connected to the office inside, "I have some time to spare at the moment. If you'd please let the captain in?"

The secretary immediately broke her fighting stance and reported back to the snail, "As you wish, sir." She opened the double doors and motioned for Captain Douglas, who was just getting back to his feet, inside. When Vezzali and Chapa moved to follow, Ms. Cross obstructed their path. "Only your captain has permission to enter. You two will have to wait out here."

Before either could protest, Douglas immediately spoke, "It's all right. I just need to have a man-to-man conversation with the Rear Admiral." Vezzali and Chapa reluctantly backed away as Douglas was shown inside the office.

In comparison to the sterile reception room, the Rear Admiral's office felt like a completely different building. Candlelight combined with a handcrafted chandelier highlighted the red carpet and ornate carvings that defined the room. Three of the four walls were lined with bookcases filled with thick, difficult-looking academic textbooks by a wide variety of authors. Unlike similar bookcases which might contain books mostly for show, the books all looked worn as if they were read on a regular basis. The soft melody of a classical string quartet sounded from a record player in the corner. On the other side the room from Douglas was an intricate but sturdy oak desk and chair, behind which a full-pane glass window overlooked much of the island including the mountainous cacti in the distance.

The man who stood up from the chair was not at all what Douglas expected. Barely standing five feet tall, the short older man smiled between a pointed white beard and a matching nose. His slick hair curved forward to a point, giving the image of a crescent moon when the doctor's face was viewed from a profile. The only thing resembling a marine uniform on the man was a pin with the World Government's symbol on the pocket of a full-length buttoned white laboratory coat. Looking over Douglas with calculating grey eyes through a spectacles, the doctor extended a gloved hand, "A pleasure to meet you, Captain."

"The pleasure's mine, Rear Admiral," Douglas nodded as he shook his hand.

"Please, Dr. Zoo will do. I assure you the title of Rear Admiral is mostly honorary, a necessity so that I may legitimately run this facility." The doctor pulled out a second chair, sitting down behind the desk. "How are you feeling? Any pains or discomforts I should know about?"

"I feel fine, thank you. I'm not one to be kept down for long. But I'm not here to discuss my health."

"Oh?" The two took their seats on opposite sides of the desk.

"These bounties. I believe they are unjustly given."

Dr. Zoo adjusted his spectacles, "It was your lieutenant who provided the information on such bounties."

"Yes, and I believe she was hasty in doing so," Douglas nodded.

Dr. Zoo reached for one of the many papers on his desk, reading off the contents as he spoke, "They've resisted arrest, broken out of prison, stolen a private vessel, stolen a Marine vessel, destroyed another Marine vessel beyond repair and caused a great deal of injury to you and your crew." Placing the paper back in the pile, he looked back at the captain inquisitively, "And you don't think they broke any laws?"

"Er…"

"Careful, Captain. Others might take your suggestion as a sign of treason," he casually cautioned, "Thankfully, you don't have to worry about such things with me, so I'll just pretend you said nothing just now." Douglas sat silently as Dr. Zoo stood up and walked to a minibar in the corner, pouring an expensive-looking bottle into two glasses, "I have no interest in the distractions a military tribunal would bring. I am a scientist first, and a loyal employee of the World Government second. Plus I gather from your tone that your motivations for your actions are anything but treasonous. Brandy?"

Douglas shook his head, "Then I would ask you at least keep the bounties low. The captain of said crew at least I don't think is as much of a threat."

Dr. Zoo sighed, "Well, since your crew is the only one with experience against these particular pirates I suppose it would only be natural to take your counsel on the extent of their abilities. Very well, I'll see about lowering the final bounty."

Douglas braved a smile of relief, "Thank you. I would also like to pursue them as soon as possible. If you'd just lend me a ship…"

"Out of the question," Dr. Zoo interrupted, "You still need bedrest so we can be sure there are no complications with your recovery."

"But…"

Dr. Zoo continued, "And besides, at the moment I can't spare a single ship. I'm already overworked and overextended sending envoys out on various missions."

Douglas hesitated, wondering what the entire naval force of a marine base could be required for, "What kind of missions?"

"The classified kind I'm afraid," the doctor explained apologetically as he sipped his brandy, "All I can say is that they're vital to the ongoing research of this facility."

"And the research of this facility is classified as well?" Douglas presumed.

"I'm afraid so, yes," Dr. Zoo said with an apologetic smile, "Now I'm afraid I must get back to work soon, so I'll have to ask you to go back to your room and get some rest. I'll be in to check on you later and perhaps give you a tour of the less classified parts of the facility. For now I'll have to ask that you and your troops remain confined to the grounds here."

As Douglas wondered just what sort of research Dr. Zoo meant, the secretary stepped through the door carrying a stack of files. Dutifully handing off the reports to her superior, Douglas managed to steal a glance at the heading of some of the documents.

"Project Eden?" he read.

"One of the research projects my superiors request I not discuss. Now if you'll excuse me, as enjoyable as your company is, I'm afraid I have duties to attend to." The doctor didn't seem to mind too much that Douglas had inadvertently learned classified information, perhaps because the name alone didn't tell him much.

"Very well, Doctor. But if there's anything I can do to expedite my departure or help out around here, please don't hesitate to ask," Douglas said as he walked back out to the reception.

When he rejoined his first mate and cabin boy, he found them sitting nervously in the two remaining chairs, Vezzali still but incredibly tense like a housecat being forced to stare down a panther, and Chapa fidgeted restlessly letting his legs swing back and forth in the comfortable chair.

"How'd it go?" Vezzali asked anxiously.

Douglas shook his head, "It seems we're confined here for now. The Rear Admiral says he hasn't any ships to spare."

Vezzali actually breathed a sigh of relief, "Now will you just rest? Those pirates aren't our problem anymore." The captain remained silent, deep in thought. "Captain?"

"What kind of research could they possibly be working on here?" the captain wondered aloud, "Aside from some overgrown cacti, there really aren't any unusual traits of the island, and right next to the Red Line sounds like a horrible place to put a research base with all the incoming pirates. Something isn't right here."

"Captain, don't…" Vezzali tried to dissuade.

"And I'm going to find out what." As Douglas narrowed his eyes as dramatically as possible, Chapa gave a grin of excitement as Vezzali facepalmed.

* * *

><p>Once Douglas was well outside the soundproof doors, the Rear Admiral addressed his secretary, "Ms. Cross?"<p>

"Yes, Dr. Zoo?"

"Please look after the Captain and try to make sure he avoids too much trouble," he said as he scribbled some notes and signatures on the various documents.

Ms. Cross nodded, "Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, actually." Quickly finishing some edits to some of the documents, he handed a stack of papers to the secretary, "I need you to submit and distribute these three new bounty posters as soon as possible. It is entirely possible these criminals are already in our jurisdiction."

"Yes, Dr. Zoo," Ms. Cross bowed and walked out of the room papers in hand. The doctor returned to the rest of his paperwork as he admired the view of the sun slowly setting over the cacti peaks as a giant bird soared through the air in the distance.

* * *

><p>High above the cactus mountains of Whiskey Peak and the quiet town nestled between them, a large bird, far larger than any normal hawk or eagle soared over the island, even as the "prey" in its talons squirmed, wiggled, and shouted.<p>

"PUT ME DOWN YE BLOODY HARPY! I AIN'T YER DAMN LUGGAGE!"

"Michael's awake again," groaned Brody, clinging to the back of the giant bird alongside Hammie and the teenage girl they met at the Red Line lighthouse. Michael had to be carried in the talons since there was only so much room on top of the bird, not that anyone but Michael was complaining.

"Just don't look down. Look up," said the girl with all the concern and emotion of a doorknob. Though reserved, she seemed eager to help the trio get off the island via her mode of transportation: a giant bird, its feathers painted yellow and green.

"DON'T YE TELL ME WHAT TO… Do… ye… bloody… wi…" As Michael looked up, once again his ranting tapered off as he fell back into a calm sleep, even though the only thing between him and a grisly fate on the rocks below was the rushing wind.

"That's three times he's woken up now. The fact he hasn't squirmed out and fallen to his death is surprising, and admittedly a little disappointing," Brody added the last part under his breath.

"Sorry about him causing so much trouble," Hammie apologized, "April, right? You didn't have to go out of your way to give us a ride."

"Don't mention it. You probably would've starved to death before anyone else came along." Everything the girl said had the nonchalance of a taxi driver, like she was either distracted or just really didn't care either way. Also, she was really good at leaving the conversation at an awkward silence as it was right now.

"Um," Hammie tried to start again, "I guess you could just drop us off wherever's convenient. We don't want to stay in your hair too long."

"No," was the curt response.

Hammie and Brody stared at each other as they waited fruitlessly for an explanation. "Please?" Hammie tried.

"You don't want to land there. It's not safe these days." She gave a nod towards a compound separate from the village. "That marine base went up last year. The town was already full of bounty hunters before, but now that the world government has a presence here, the whole place is teeming with soldiers and mercenaries as well. They'd probably shoot us down and capture you guys if I got anywhere close."

Brody raised an eyebrow, "How'd you know we were pirates?"

"You guys are pirates?" April asked slightly surprised, "Well, that's all the more reason not to go there."

"But Jude and the others might be down there," Hammie pointed out.

"Your friends might be there, or they might not. You can start your search more easily somewhere you don't have to be dodging marines." As worried as Hammie was, he and Brody found they couldn't really fault the logic.

"So where are we headed then?" Hammie asked.

"My place is only a few islands away. This species of bird flies quickly between islands, so we'll only be a few days tops."

"Shouldn't we stop to eat or something?" Brody chimed in.

"If you're hungry, I've got cookies," April reached back to offer a box, "Chocolate or vanilla cream sandwich?"

As much as he was hoping for something with a little more protein, Brody begrudgingly accepted the chocolate cookies, wolfing down the box.

"Careful, Doc's not around to help if you get a stomach ache," Hammie teased. The girl let out a soft chuckle, which for some reason startled both of the other riders.

* * *

><p>The two pushed the rowboat the remaining way onto the beach, not an easy feat with Jude still standing on the bow. Once he was close enough Jude hopped off the rest of the distance onto the beach, pirouetting in the air just because.<p>

"No, please, don't help. We've got this, really," groaned Doc alongside the usual silent Takashi as they finished beaching their rowboat.

"As if I would volunteer to pollute my _only_ outfit with sand and seawater. Have you no sense of decency?"

Doc only scowled in response as they followed the beach along to the town, the doctor lugging the barrel strapped to his back for the trip. "Mostly desert vegetation, obviously somewhat exaggerated," Doc noted aloud as he gazed up at the towering cacti peaks, "Probably a Summer Island judging by the heat."

"Truly your deductive skills rival that of an elementary schoolchild," Jude said with a smirk.

Doc growled, not wanting to feed into Jude's banter, "So where are you leading us anyway? Have you been here before or something?"

"Of course not. I'm not leading anyone. You're merely following me. You're welcome to join me for dinner and drinks of course, but by no means should you feel obligated."

The doctor twitched as they walked through the town, seemingly abandoned. "Geez, not another one of these ghost towns."

"Hardly, doctor. Merely sleepy. Not abandoned or plague-ridden by any means. Ah, here we are." Jude stopped in front of what looked like an old saloon.

"Never figured you would have gone for the dive bar type of place."

"Dive bar?" Jude frowned, "For shame, doctor. I know your perceptive skills haven't been at their keenest today, but that's no need to insult this dining establishment."

"You're kidding, right?"

"It's no five-star gourmet restaurant, but I wouldn't expect to find something of so high quality out here. No, what we have here is a restaurant done in a rustic home style meant to conjure images of home-cooking and hearty portions. See how, despite the rugged look of the architecture, you won't find any actual flaws in the wood or mold growing in dark corners? Truly someone has gone to great lengths to perfect the aesthetics of this place, and the sign of a good decorator is the sign of a high quality establishment."

As Jude rambled, Takashi walked off in a different direction. "Hey, Takashi, where you going?" Doc called after not wanting to spend the rest of the evening listening to Jude's hot air.

"Oh, let the wandering swordsman wander for a bit. We wouldn't want him to wet the carpet." Jude grinned as he walked in the establishment, Doc following behind.

The inside looked as Jude as predicted: a rustic quality, but not degrading so. The furniture was a good solid oak, polished to a shine. Several tables with chairs were lined throughout the room, carved in an antique style, though fairly new themselves. There was even a disused piano in the back corner, and not a speck of dust anywhere.

What did surprise both Jude and Doc was the only person currently in the restaurant: the waiter. He wore an elegant, pressed pinstripe yellow and black suit with suspenders and a bowtie. The stripes were actually elongated "ones" and the suspenders had similar decorations along them. His slicked, heavily gelled blonde hair framed a thin, curling moustache and surprisingly effeminate facial features.

"Bonsoir messieurs," the waiter bowed with a wide smile, "Will it be a table for two this evening?"

"Oui, monsieur," Jude replied instantly as the waiter showed them to a freshly candlelit table, passing out newly folded napkins and silverware, even going so far as to holding the chairs for both patrons.

"Que voudriez-désirez?"

"Huh?" Doc stared.

"Pardon my friend. I will have whatever sort of house special you would recommend and if you could also recommend a wine that would be magnifique."

"And for you, sir?"

"Just get me a drink. Something thick enough that I'll need a fork and knife."

"Very good, sir. Now, before I prepare your orders, I'm afraid it is house policy to pay up front."

Doc suddenly got very nervous, "Hey, Jude, what are we going to… Where did you get those?" His eyes were drawn to a small pile of gold bellies piled onto the table.

"I wouldn't be so daft as to travel without some funds," Jude grinned.

"Yes, but how… Where did you…"

Jude shook a finger scoldingly, "A gentleman must keep some things private. Well, aren't you going to pay the man?"

Doc violently twitched in annoyance. "I don't exactly have any money," he tried grumbling between gritted teeth.

"Oh, very well, I suppose I can temporarily loan you some money. You will have to pay me back in some way later I suppose," Jude feigned reluctance, but he made sure not to hide his cheshire cat grin.

Doc shook with frustrated rage as Jude offered the large sum of money to the waiter, "Keep my friend's glass filled, would you please? You can consider any extra as a tip."

"Very good, sir. I shall be back with your drinks, shortly." The waiter bowed and practically glided backward towards the kitchen.

"So, after dinner, what's our next move?" Doc said softly.

"Honestly, can't you think of anything for yourself?" Jude sarcastically scolded.

"Well, you seem to be the man with all the answers, and I assume you're going to look for your brother."

"Ah, yes, dear brother. Well I often find that when two lost souls are actively looking for each other, they will never be reunited because they are both always moving in circles towards each other. Whereas if one party stands still, they will eventually be found by that which they seek."

Doc stared deadpan, "You aren't serious."

"Good lord, no, I'm never serious. But in all seriousness," Jude waited for the last bit to sink in and irritate Doc further, "I see no reason why we can't begin our search here. At the very least we should wait until the next round of bounties are posted. If we're lucky, they might have more recent information on my dear brother and the others."

At that moment a great shadow enveloped the table. Both Jude and Doc looked up to see a giant wall of pink overlooking the table.

"Pardon moi," piped the waiter, poking his head from behind the large, heavyset old woman, "but Mademoiselle Chef wished to deliver tonight's entrée personally."

Both patrons looked a little further up to see the heavyset older woman in the pink nightgown and cap, the wrinkled old face leathery face giving what she must've thought was a warm, friendly smile just behind small spectacles. She slammed something large, heavy, and metal down on the table with a loud boom, the table surprisingly remaining intact. It took a second glance to see the fully cooked whole turkey on the plate, "I juz t'ought I'z should bring some o' dis cookin' out," the old woman said in a shockingly deep voice. "Don't trust lil' dandy here to carry all 'dis heavy cookin' I slaved over to you'se, you'se see."

"Sacre bleu, I thought we agreed you wouldn't speak to the customers." The waiter sighed as he held a large silver serving tray in one hand, several similar family-size dishes on top of it.

"Ah, quit yers bellyachin'," the cook scolded as she slammed down a big bowl of mashed potatoes along with a plate with several stalks worth of corn on the cob slathered with butter and a giant loaf of corn bread, "Now be sure and eat the whole thing, you'se hear? You're both growing boys now."

"Oh dear," Jude looked over the giant feast, wishing Takashi was still around to help him eat all this in case not doing so would somehow anger the large cook, "Could I perhaps get some to-go bags?"

* * *

><p>Takashi walked the streets of Whiskey Peak, the sun setting over the mountains. He had no destination in mind, he merely traveled along the path his feet chose to walk. For a while, there was no one in sight, but of course with his senses he might have just not registered anyone too weak to be a factor to him.<p>

Suddenly, his feet stopped of their own accord. His instincts drew his attention to just beyond the next corner. An enemy? No, there was no hostile intent directed towards him. What he did sense was a few faint sparks of strength. In the roaring bonfire of battle they'd be long forgotten, but in the dead quiet, they were easily found long before they entered his field of vision.

Sure enough, in a few moments two men stepped out from the corner. They paid Takashi no mind and went on their way, conversing about something Takashi didn't care about. What the chef swordsman did notice was that both men had katanas at their waist and both, despite their casual banter had a passive sort of readiness to their movements, the mark of a swordsman who was ready for a fight at a moment's notice. Perhaps that reaction time would be dulled after they had a few drinks, but it at least meant that these men were trained. Not a challenge for Takashi of course, but they had at least taken the first fledgling steps towards becoming true masters of the blade.

Takashi's feet moved once again of their own accord, following the swordsmen from a good distance away. After a few blocks, instead of a few unnoteworthy sparks, his instincts sensed a smoldering flame, like a campfire that had been allowed to slowly burn out. He looked ahead to see for once a building teeming with activity. Unlike the rustic architecture of the rest of the city, this building looked freshly constructed in a completely different style than the rest of the city. It was a large building, about the size of a warehouse though clearly outfitted as a tavern, or, judging by the burly bouncer at the front door, a private club. The garbled conversation of rowdy bar patrons could be heard even from here.

The bouncer opened the door and let the two swordsmen in as they approached. Takashi followed in suit, but the bouncer blocked his path. "This here's a private club." Takashi paid the large muscled man no mind and continued on his path. "Hey didn't you hear me? Beat it!" The bouncer placed a hand on Takashi's shoulder to push him back.

A few moments later, the relaxing patrons of the private club were startled when the doors burst open, the bloodied, bruised, unconscious body of the bouncer being tossed just inside. Takashi calmly stepped inside, cracking his knuckles. A quick look around the room revealed virtually everyone in the room having a blade of some sort, and most everyone with a blade rested their hand on the hilt in preparation for whatever attack the stranger would make next.

"I wish to challenge your weakest swordsman."

There was some brief confusion followed by some soft chuckles from some of the less wary patrons. "Hey Papercut Joe, he's looking for you." A disgruntled, balding, middle-aged man glared evilly at the speaker but then stood up and walked towards Takashi. Upon closer inspection Takashi briefly noted the patch on the older man's vest reading 199.

"Look, pal, I don't know who you think you are," Joe clumsily drew his sword. Apparently the whipping boy of the place had a little too much to drink, "But you can't just barge into this place and-"

"**Mutoryuu: Tenderizing Trauma!**" Takashi slammed his head into the temple of Papercut Joe, the inebriated swordsman unable to do anything but stagger as Takashi grasped his blade with two flat palms and wrenched it out of his hands, twisting it around and thrusting it into the shoulder of his opponent, much to the sudden shock of everyone else.

Papercut Joe screamed as he fell to the ground clutching his sword wound as Takashi analyzed his new blade. Barely polished, horribly taken care of, nicked and scratched, he couldn't even see his reflection in the blade. "Perfect." Twirling the sword around he pointed it at the anxious crowd. "Now I wish to challenge your strongest swordsman."

The crowd of swordsmen warily took their stances. None of them would be caught off-guard again.

"HOLD!" shouted a voice from the back. Instantly, all the swordsmen stepped down, hands still at their swords just in case. "Could I talk you into sharing a drink instead, stranger?" came the voice from the back of the bar, in a curtained off VIP area.

"I am only here to cross blades."

"Is it not permissible for two swordsmen to share a drink before crossing blades? To know that which you're about to cut down?" Takashi's silence was his reply. "Very well, allow me some conversation, and I'll promise you a duel with the deadliest one here: me." Takashi glanced over the rest of the crowd, not a hint of challenging that claim among their faces. The voice clearly belonged to the strongest one here, or at least each of these swordsmen seemed to believe so. Takashi relaxed his grip on the sword, no sheathe to hold it at the moment. The crowd warily parted to allow Takashi to slowly march to the curtained room in the back.

Parting aside the curtain, sitting among a pile of luxurious pillows was the presumed leader. Long, black, white-streaked hair flowed down his head, obscuring one scarred eye, but leaving the other piercing yellow eye to stare. His long, black coat separated into separate tails which drifted around his form but left his tattooed arms and chest exposed. A long black scarf entwined around his neck left to rest with the rest of his coattails. Hanging off him were three scantily clad women, each brandishing their own various swords, and each bearing a badge not unlike Papercut Joe's, but with lower numbers. The man they were decorating, however, bore no blade on his person, probably because just behind him was a large pile of swords, blade, katanas, rapiers, scimitars, falchions, and other such weapons.

"Please, sit. Have a drink. There's no ill will from me here," the man said with a grin as he motioned with a gloved hand for the three girls to leave. "Who do I have the pleasure of pouring a drink for?"

"Give me your name and I shall give mine."

"Well, that will be difficult," said the man as he poured a bottle of sake into two cups, "You see my name changes depending on my target and mission, I haven't had a full name to share over a polite conversation for a long while, but for both of our sakes you may call me the Ronin."

Takashi politely knelt down to the table, sword in hand, "Takashi Nakamura, of the Iron Chef school."

The Ronin raised an eyebrow, "Of cooking?"

"Among other things," Takashi gripped his sword for effect.

The Ronin nodded in acknowledgment. "Well, the reputation of your school certainly precedes you, but I must admit I put little stock in rumors and titles. What I really want to know is this: You specifically asked for the weakest first, then immediately after for the strongest. Why?"

"The strength of my opponent makes little difference. If everyone in this room had attacked me at once, I would still emerge victorious."

The Ronin laughed in response, "How bold of you. But if it were really about confidence, there's no reason to pick the weakest first."

"I lacked a blade."

"So why not go after the strongest sword possible?"

"The blade of the weakest was necessary so that when I defeat the rest of you, no one can make the foolish claim that it was the strength of the blade and not my skill which bested you."

"HA! I knew I liked you," the Ronin laughed as he raised his glass, "To the fools who trust in their blades rather than their skill." He clinked his glass against the cup Takashi had yet to even pick up and drank his fill. "You see, these are the Hundred Swords, supposedly the strongest swordsmen in this part of the Grand Line. These self-proclaimed swordsmen will take their blades and sharpen and polish them and write little poems to them. They treat their weapons like their girlfriends. But a blade is just a tool, no better or worse than the man holding it. These fools could never understand that."

"And you are different somehow?"

"Aye, but I had to learn that the hard way." The Ronin pulled back his hair to reveal the single scar that ran from the top of his head across his eye down his face and neck and all the way down to his torso. "I too once put all my faith in a hunk of metal. It had a name, a polished blade, an artisan-crafted grip, everything. Then someone gave me this and showed me just how useless my blade was."

"So you admit you are weak?"

"I admit I was weak. Back when I still thought of battles in terms of strength and weakness and put more stock in a hunk of metal than I did myself," the Ronin finished his drink and poured another glass, "You haven't shared a drink with me, yet."

"I have no reason not to suspect drugs or poison."

The Ronin laughed again, "See, this is what I mean! Any other of these dolts would just gulp it down without a second thought no matter how much it tasted like arsenic or cyanide. These so-called swordsmen have zero common sense!" The Ronin downed another cup with one gulp, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"You promised a duel."

"And you promised to share a drink, first. But here me out. I could really use someone new in the Hundred Swords. Someone with actual intelligence as opposed to these wastes of space. One week is all I ask. One week and if you're still not satisfied, I'll give you your duel under whatever terms or handicaps you desire at the time and place of your choosing. I'll even instruct my Hundred Swords to all assault you at once if you prefer."

Takashi glanced down at the still untouched glass of sake.

"Unless of course you're already employed elsewhere?"

The chef's thoughts briefly turned to his most recent captain, most likely dead by now and whether it would be worth it to wait and see. Michael was probably dead as well, and Takashi still owed the captain's brother a duel, something that could be accomplished either way, "I go where my path takes me. I call no man master."

"And I don't ask that you do. Well, technically I'd be a sort of supervisor within the context of the company, but only for the purpose of your paycheck and, well, other perks." At the mention of other perks the three scantily clad swordswomen from before returned bearing more food and drink, this time draping themselves over Takashi. "I should mention we're currently sponsored by the World Government, at least for now. Whether you take that as a pro or con to the offer is up to you."

His grip finally loosened on the blade from before accepting the cup of sake, "Very well, you have your week."

The curtain were thrown open by a large man with several swords at his waist, along with multiple daggers slung across his chest and a giant man-sized cleaver slung across his back, to say nothing of the multiple layers of armor he wore. "Sir, I apologize for eavesdropping, but I must protest! We know nothing of this stranger, and we currently do not have any openings. We are the Hundred Swords, not the Hundred and One Swords! If he wants to join he should start at the bottom and work his way up the ladder like everyone else here." The Ronin scowled as he reached behind him and grabbed a giant monstrosity of a crossbow, its bow replaced by four wickedly curved blades. "W-wait, sir, please let me explain!" the armored swordsman pleaded. The Ronin ignored him as he grabbed one of the swords from the pile behind him and placed it on the modified crossbow in place of an arrow. The armored swordsman had just enough time to start running and put as much of the crowd between him.

The Ronin pointed and fired almost casually, the hilt of the blade-ammunition ripping apart like a bullet casing as the blade was fired through the crowd, missing about a dozen people before impaling the armored swordsman in the back of the head. "Oh look, it appears we have an opening. How convenient for us." One of the other swordsman anxiously but quickly ran back to Ronin with the patch of the armored swordsman, reading '101'. The Ronin's grin returned as he put forth his glass for another toast, "Welcome to the new, improved Baroque Works, Takashi Nakamura."

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Wendy, do I have to?

"You're not getting out of this. You know what you have to do. :( "

Sigh... Okay. I'm sorry...

"For...?"

I know I was supposed to post something last April, but the only thing I had done on April 1st was the bit with Douglas, and that was pretty short. I didn't feel like it was worth posting as its own chapter, so I started expanding it. The reason it's taken this long was because April was kind of a hectic month for me.

"Oh please, what could have been SOOO important that you put this off for a whole month?"

Well, for one thing I was kind of busy getting married.

"So? I got married and you don't see me making excuses (didn't even get a friggin honeymoon grumble grumble)"

That was a fictional wedding! Real ones are a lot of work! More than one chapter's worth of writing anyway.

"Nope! No excuses!"

Oh, and to top things off, my computer's been giving me trouble so that I can't actually use it and charge it at the same time or else the whole thing shuts off.

"Still sounding like excuses!"

Well, the wedding planning thing is over, so hopefully I can get back to a more regular schedule. I can't make any promises of course, but we'll hopefully see some more chapters real soon. Now untie me, Wendy?

Please?

It's really hard to type like this.

"In a minute I need to post a profile, one that I've been saving FOR A MONTH!"

… Damnit...

* * *

><p>"<strong>Name:<strong> Takashi "Iron Chef" Nakamura

**Age:** 27

**Gender: **Male

**Birth Date:** August 16th

**Occupation: **Chef and Swordsman, though he'd say that they're one and the same, whatever that means.

**Crew: **Shipwreck Pirates

**Bounty:** Er, I had this somewhere, but I can't find the list that the author gave me. Sorry. :(

**Equipment: **He carries a lot of swords I know. Nothing specific though. Goes through them like toilet paper, though I really hope he doesn't use them like toilet paper. O_O

**Abilities:** Obviously he's a great cook and a great swordsman. He doesn't seem to have much trouble switching sword styles depending on how many he has left. Even disarmed he kicks a lot of butt! All his sword moves are really cool, and I think they're all somehow related to cooking. I know he cooks with his swords as well. He even made our wedding cake! Not sure how that works, but I bet it looked amazing! Tasted good, but I forgot to save some for Brody. Sorry!

**Attacks:** WHAT? NO WAY! I am NOT going through and listing all those different attacks! I'll save that for a later chapter!

**Win Record: **-3, I need to stop doing these, they're depressing. Loss against Chapa, Won against Torteau, than lost against Kitsushi, Chapa again, and Douglas. Oh wait, he beat that Papercut Joe guy! I'm counting that now too: -2. The author keeps calling him the "Worf" of the group whatever that means.

**Interview Quote:** "You do not appear to greatly value your life if you keep disturbing me."

**Feelings about other crew members:**

**Hammie:** "What appears gentle on the surface can mask a great torrent only just beneath."

**Jude:** "Always beware the fool, for those who laugh at the fool are only playing into his clever joke."

**Michael: **"Some men brag loudly and can back up their boasts. Michael is not one of these people."

**Doc: **"There are few instances in which a healer's touch should be combined with a drunkard's hand."

**Brody:** "The more one tries to control one's path in life, the more they are swept away in the tide from their destination."

**Current Goals in Life:** "The path of a swordsman is always uncertain."

* * *

><p>"Oh also, if you want more chapters quickly, bug the author more, it gets him writing. :)"<p>

Can you just untie me now?

"After a few more episodes of My Little Pony."

Damnit...


	5. Welcome to the Spider Café

A large splash of water to the face quickly jarred Michael awake. The fact that he was dangling over several hundred feet of nothing but air between him and the ocean didn't help, but was less surprising after the third day. "DAMN YE WHORIN MOTHERS YE BACKSTABBIN SWILL-DRINKIN PILES OF CRAPSTAINS…" Michael continued cursing loudly, hungry and irritable from the journey, barely stopping to take a breath.

"Are we sure it was a good idea to wake him up?" groaned a tired Brody.

They'd been flying for nearly three days straight, stopping only when their pilot April felt like it, which wasn't often. Sleeping on the fast-moving bird was a challenge in itself, and the only rations they had were some boxes of stale cookies and water rations that only served to intensify the hunger. Brody and Hammie were troopers about the ordeal, but whenever Michael was awake he'd start back in a string of rather colorful obscenities that Hammie had to shout above to answer his navigator, "Supposedly we'll be touching down soon. It probably wouldn't be a good idea for him unconscious when we reach the ground."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think that rides with giant predatory birds aren't known for having soft landings," Hammie guessed, "It's a lot harder to tuck and roll if you're not conscious to do so."

"I've never had any problems," noted April laying in the center near the neck of the giant bird.

"While being carried in its talons?" asked Hammie.

April paused to think about her passenger's point, "True. I guess that might be a little different. All right we're here."

The bird began its descent below the light wispy clouds to reveal a large desert landscape along the coast. Hammie was surprised to find no town in sight, just one small wooden shack inland and a few small ships tied up at a makeshift dock.

It wasn't clear just how, but April managed to slow its descent enough that its passengers weren't thrown off its back. The giant bird circled down on the wooden building until it settled on landing a few dozen feet away from the structure. Finally it dropped Michael from what could be considered a "safe distance" and the irritable foul-mouthed pirate skipped along the sand like a stone across water until he crashed into the side of the building.

"Hey, Michael, you okay?" As soon as it was safe, Hammie leapt off the bird and rushed towards Michael. Brody, however, took his time dismounting the beast

Michael shook his head out of the sand and slowly turned his head to see a strange, gray dog looking at him. "An' just what are you lookin' at, ye damn mutt?" The dog was furless, its hide a strange, dark gray leathery material, but what really set it apart was the dog's midsection which took the shape of a tank; treads, cannon and all. Despite all this, the dog didn't seem metallic or manufactured in nature, but nor did it have the look of a real dog, instead being somewhere between.

The strange guard hound promptly turned away, raised a leg on the still prone Michael and relieved itself.

Brody arrived to see Michael fly up in a rage screaming even more vibrantly than before. He wasn't even sure Michael was still using actual words.

"Come on now, Michael, quit arguing with the dog-tank-thing…" Hammie struggled with what to call the creature. It only stared docilely at the three in response.

"Don't worry, Lassoo, they're with me. Yes, even the shirtless smelly one. Good boy, Lassoo," April casually strode up and pet the large dog on the head. Lassoo calmly turned around and went back to sleep.

"Damn mutt," Michael muttered, shaking some of his pant-leg dry.

"Now, Michael you know better than to argue with creatures on your intellectual level. Stick to inanimate objects," Brody snickered as he walked past Michael into the small building.

Michael growled through his teeth in response.

* * *

><p>"I'm home!" April announced as she entered the building.<p>

Hammie took note of the name on the door as he walked in: the **Spider Café**, and was surprised to find the place a small but busy diner. There were three waitresses, one older woman manning the counter, a petit blonde and a short shrew of a woman waiting tables.

There was no shortage of customers either. At a nearby table, a mother was managing three energetic children with crayons and coloring books while they waited for their food. Farther back in the corner was a large middle-aged woman consuming pint after pint of grog while a tiny, meek little old man, with a balding combover and glasses so thick they could be used as coasters, sat across from her, trying but failing to convince her to stop her binge. In the opposite corner two men in fedoras and black trenchcoats kept to themselves eyeing the newcomers, and finally one older gentleman sat at the counter with a cup of coffee.

The older blue-haired woman manning the counter smiled at April's return, "Welcome back. How much did you make?"

April shrugged, "I didn't really."

Suddenly the short shrew of a waitress shouted from across the room, "Baka! You were supposed to be out selling cookies! It was your idea in the first place! Baka! Ba!"

The blonde let out a high-pitched laugh, "Kyahahaha! I told you it was a stupid idea!"

The blue-haired woman lost her smile, but remained calm, "April, did you sell anything? Where did you go?"

"Let's see," April recalled her destinations, "I tried Abandoned Island, Barren City, Ghost Town, the Lifeless Archipelago, and finally that lighthouse on the Red Line. Couldn't sell a single box."

The lead waitress sighed, "Maybe because you didn't go to a single inhabited place? What about Drum Kingdom? Or Alabasta even?"

"I don't really like crowded places like that, Paula," April scowled.

"That's the entire point of selling things, April. Oh well, at least we can sell the boxes here."

"I don't have any boxes left."

"But you said…"

"I had to eat something on the trip."

The lead waitress, Paula, was quickly losing patience, "April, you were supposed to bring travel rations for that!"

"Oh yeah, I've still got those." Having been reminded, April handed back a full pack of travel rations, which while not the most flavorful of meals, made Hammie's and Brody's mouths water as it passed by them. Anything that would provide more nutrients than the sugary stale cookies they'd subsided on for the past few days.

"You had travel rations the whole time?" Brody exclaimed, drawing the lead waitress's eye for the first time.

Paula looked over the motley crew that had come with April, "And just who are these men, April?"

"I picked them up on the Red Line. They needed a lift," the girl explained as she emptied the rest of her bag on the counter.

This sent the blonde into another fit of laughter, "Kyahaha! She's growing up on us. We send her out to work and she comes home with three strapping young men." On cue, she sidled up to Brody and wrapped herself around his arm.

The fishman quickly wriggled out of her grasp and backed away, "Er, sorry, but I'm married, Miss…?"

"Valen-" the blonde stopped herself mid-sentence, "Er, just Val."

"And you can call me Mary young lad," this time the shrew sidled up to Brody causing him to flinch even more, as he quickly leapt backward so his back was against the wall. The two snickered and ignored him from then on. Presumably they were just playing some kind of prank, which both relieved and irritated Brody.

"And ye can call me starvin'!" Michael grabbed himself a seat up at the counter and grinned at the otherwise occupied waitress, "Lass, a plate of whatever grub ye got on the menu and a drink of your strongest grog!"

The woman sighed, "Coming right up." She fixed a small pint glass for Michael.

Hammie took a seat and took a note of the waitress's nametag, "Not to interrupt, um… Paula, we're all famished since we've had nothing to eat but cookies for the last few days, but we don't exactly have any money." Right before Michael's lips could touch the glass and get his first sip of grog in several days, the glass was yanked out of his hand by Paula who, despite Michael's protests, ignored him and turned back to April.

"So let me get this straight: You eat the cookies you're supposed to be selling, don't make a dime, leave us understaffed, and the only thing you bring home is three charity cases?"

April nodded, "That pretty much sums it up."

"You know we actually have to make money here."

"Don't really care," April shrugged.

"Well you need to start caring!" Paula shouted, her patience finally snapped, "I know you don't like working but you can't just go through your whole life doodling in a corner somewhere. Even artists need to sell their work, and I'm not always going to be there to put a plate of food in front of you!"

"Yeah, still don't care," said April as she walked around Paula and sat at an empty table with a sketchbook and some art supplies.

"Aren't you going to at least wait on some customers?"

"Tired. Bird-lag. Lots of traveling you know," April commented without looking up.

"I give up," Paula gave a sigh of exasperation before turning to Hammie and his crew, "You three, I'm sorry, but I can't afford to be running a soup kitchen here. You either pay up or hit the road. Water's not free either. Can't afford it to be in this climate."

"Oh, don't you worry about them Paula," piped up the old man at the counter with a kind voice, "I've got more than enough to pay for the lot of them."

"Well, it's your money," Paula shrugged as she went on preparing some food and drink for the three new customers.

"Would that be suitable for you three then? All I ask is some conversation in return," asked the gentleman.

Hammie smiled at his benefactor, "Thanks a lot, er…"

"Call me **Decado**," the gentleman tipped his hat, "I run a sort of taxi ferry service between several islands in these parts."

"Hammie. Captain Hammie, I guess, but right now the only ship I have is probably driftwood washing up on several different shores."

Decado chuckled, "And the young miss picked you up I assume?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Paula put some small plates of cold sandwiches in front of the three, and Hammie continued his conversation as promised between bites, "So you know this place pretty well then?"

Decado nodded, "I've been coming here near since it opened. It may not look it, but it's a convenient little stop with a very small detour from my normal routes. You don't find many places like this, not without looking very carefully at least. It's been what, two years since you opened the place Paula?"

"Not quite, but getting close," Paula responded as she finished pouring drinks for the four at the counter.

"So what's the story of this place?"

"Well, the staff here has remained constant since its opening. There's Paula, the two other waitresses, three if you count April though she hasn't waited tables in a few months," Decado counted off on his fingers. Just as he was finished counting the waitresses there was a loud explosion from the kitchen and black smoke started to leak from the back. Surprisingly to Hammie, the customers were only mildly disturbed as if it was a minor occurrence. "That'd be one of the two cooks. The food's not great here. You'd be lucky to get something that's not either charred black from the one cook or spoiled by the time the other gets the dish out to you. No offense, Paula. The coffee is excellent as always."

"None taken," Paula responded as she turned on a fan to keep the smoke away from the customers, "One couldn't pour cereal without somehow blowing up part of my kitchen, the other would grow mold before he'd be finished getting it out to you."

"Then why'd you hire them in the first place?" Brody asked.

"Well, we all worked at a previous job together, so it only seemed right to hire them on to do something. I was hoping that practice would eventually make adequate. Sadly it appears I was mistaken. Now half the equipment's broken."

"Broken?" Brody noted as he glanced at Hammie with an idea, "Miss Paula, we're kind of stranded for a while, is there any way we could maybe do some work in exchange for food and board? Not long of course, just a few days."

Paula shook her head, "Thanks, but I'm not really looking for new employees. I can barely keep this place stocked and pay the ones I have already."

"Are you sure?" Brody gave a slight grin, "Hammie here can fix pretty much anything."

"I doubt it. Both of my cooks have pretty much ruined everything we could possibly cook with. It's a miracle the whole Café hasn't gone up in flames yet. Everything in the kitchen's kind of beyond repair."

Hammie perked up, "Well, I could at least take a look. I'm kind of a maintenance guy by trade."

"I thought you said you were a captain," smirked Paula.

"Do you know just how much 'maintenance' that job requires regularly?" Hammie said completely seriously.

Paula gave a light chuckle, "All right, I guess it couldn't hurt to let you look at it," she turned to shout at the kitchen, "You two! Go on break and try not to destroy the rest of the Café as thoroughly as you've done the kitchen." There was some mumbling from the back before she answered, "No, I'm not fixing you anything! You're the cook! It's not my fault if you keep burning everything to a crisp. You eat whatever you've ruined back there if you're hungry. Maybe then you'll learn a thing or two." Then she turned to Brody, "And you can get to work too."

"Me?" asked a surprised Brody, "What do you want me to do?"

"You're a fishman, right? Special connection to water and everything?" she reached behind the counter and handed Brody a barrel and a shovel, "Go dig us a new well, we're running out of water, a bad place to be even if we weren't a kitchen."

"I don't think it works that way," Brody started to protest before a hard glare from the waitress made him involuntarily pick up the empty barrel and shovel, "But I can at least see what I can do."

"And you," she turned to Michael who was still stuffing his face with food and drink without a care in the world, "Do you have any special talents I can put to good use?"

"Bombs, cannons, guns, things that go boom," Michael grinned, "If ye like, later you and me can ditch the rest of these punks and I can show ye plenty more of me more hidden talents."

"Those can remain hidden," Paula quickly turned away disgusted.

"It's probably better if Michael just stays out of the way," Hammie offered, "but I'll do twice the work to make up for him, I promise."

"Fine," Paula agreed, "Just make sure he stays out of trouble."

Out from the kitchen came the two cooks, a dark-haired man with sunglasses who carried his own lunch, a dish so burnt and blackened its original shape wasn't even recognizable, and a large round man behind him who walked very slowly out of the kitchen. The dark-haired man sat down at a booth with his charred dish and was just about to dig in when Michael piped up, "Oi, is there any more of that?"

The dark-haired man glanced at Michael, back at the thing on his plate barely recognizable as food, and back again, "You actually want this?"

"Course I do, I'm starvin!"

"Enough to trade me those sandwiches?"

"Sure, these are too bland for me taste." When Paula wasn't looking, the two exchanged plates. Michael took a big bite of the morsel, chewing it like leather, and much to the dark-skinned man's shock, swallowed it in one big gulp, "Now that's a real meal!"

"I burnt those so bad even I can't eat that without getting sick," the dark-haired man noted in surprise.

"Nonsense, it ain't burnt, it's just blackened. Just like me ma use to make. Is there any more?" Michael asked in a rare moment of politeness.

"I think so, I'll go check," the dark-haired man went back to retrieve more dishes deemed too burnt for consumption made throughout the day. In the meanwhile, the large round man had only just made it outside the café door where he was playing with the guard tank-dog. "Gooood booooy Laaaasoooo."

* * *

><p>About an hour or so later, Paula came back into the kitchen to find Hammie on the floor under one of the destroyed machines inspecting it. "Well?" she asked, "Can you salvage it?"<p>

"The only thing I can't figure out," replied Hammie in confusion, "is what caused the explosion in the first place. It's like your chef tried to cook a lit stick of dynamite in the deep fryer."

"That's probably not too far off," muttered Paula under her breath, "Er, never mind what caused it. Can you fix it?"

Hammie rolled himself back out from under the machine, "I think so. I'd need some spare parts though. I don't suppose you have some older appliances that fell into disrepair as well?"

"Not a deep fryer."

"That's okay, I'm pretty sure I can get the parts I need from a different machine. I've got to wait for the old grease to drain first before I get started, so it'll be a few minutes."

Paula nodded, impressed that the thing could be fixed in the first place, "That's fine. I was certain I'd have to buy an all new one, and those aren't exactly easy to find out here."

"It won't be too difficult once I get the parts. The most difficulty will be making sure whatever I use to fix this can stand the temperatures of boiling grease and that any seals are completely water tight. The last thing you want is to start leaking hot grease into the machinery and…"

"Okay, I think I've got it," Paula interrupted before Hammie could recite the whole technical manual to her, "I'll go check to see what kind of spare appliances we have stashed in the back."

Paula excused herself, and at least for the time being, Hammie had to wait before he could resume repairs, which was all right by him because he had someone else he wanted to talk to.

Stepping out to the front, Hammie found it odd that there were the exact same customers as before and no new ones, but it made more sense after he realized that Decado probably ferried them all. Couldn't exactly leave without the captain could they?

He stepped over to the corner booth where April was sketching something out, but the young girl quickly hid whatever she was working on when Hammie approached. "What're you working on?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

"Art," she answered quickly.

"What kind? Can I see?" Hammie tried to crane his neck up so he could actually get a look at what April was working on, but the young artist only covered it up further.

"Why would you care?"

"I can't be interested in art?"

"You don't look the type," she replied dismissively.

"I do a little painting now and then," Hammie protested.

"First you're a captain, then you're a handyman, now you're an artist?" April raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Admittedly mostly backgrounds and props and the like, but that should count for something."

"Backgrounds and props for what?" she inquired further.

"I used to work on a theater ship. Picked up a lot of little talents there. Construction, engineering, art, you name it, I've made it"

"So what do you perform?"

"Whatever plays that we could get our hands on, and whatever my brother would be willing to star in," Hammie explained.

"Your brother?" April shook her head. "No, what did _you_ perform?"

Hammie shrugged, "I didn't, really. I'm more of a backstage guy myself."

"But you performed something."

"No, not really," he said reluctantly.

"You had to have had some kind of talent besides helping other people's talent. Come on, tell me," she insisted.

"Well…" Hammie hesitated.

"You show me something you've performed and I'll show you what I'm working on," April offered.

Hammie thought for a moment and reached into one of the back pockets on his tool belt, "I do have something. I've never done this on stage before, but it's a little something I've been working on." He dug around until he pulled out an ordinary-looking deck of cards and lay it out for April.

"Okay, pick a card," Hammie grinned.

"Seriously?" April look of anticipation vanished.

"Go on, I won't look." Reluctantly, April picked up a card at random, the 6 of Clubs, not that Hammie could see it. "Okay, now memorize it and put it back in the deck." April lazily complied as Hammie shuffled the deck, placed it back on the table, and dramatically as possible drew the top card, "Is… this your card?" April yawned. It was the right card. Hammie knew it was the right card. That was the point of the trick. "Not impressed?" Hammie correctly guessed, trying to think of a way to save face, "Wait, wait, I've got another one. Shuffle the deck as best you can." April sighed but shuffled anyway. "Now draw from the top and without looking I'll tell you which they are," Hammie turned away and covered his eyes, calling the cards as April drew them off the top of the deck, "5 of clubs, 4 of clubs, 3 of clubs, 2 of clubs, Ace of clubs, and King of clubs." Sure enough, the cards were flipped over to reveal the straight run.

"Eh," April remained unimpressed.

"Now shuffle them again, try and shuffle them as much as possible," Hammie continued to close his eyes as April shuffled the cards again but cut them several times just to make sure they'd be different. "Now draw again. This time they're the 5 of diamonds, 4 of diamonds, 3 of diamonds, 2 of diamonds, Ace of diamonds, and King of diamonds in that order." Right once again. "Shuffle them again, see if you can stump me."

"That can't work three times in a row," April said as she shuffled the deck in as many ways she could think of to try and throw off whatever trick Hammie was pulling.

"5 of spades, 4 of spades, 3 of spades, 2 of spades, Ace of spades, King of spades." Completely right again, April started to gain interest, or maybe she was just determined to stump Hammie. "One more time, do whatever you have to do to mix them up." This time instead of shuffling she just spread all the cards out into one big pile before gathering them up in as random a method as possible.

"5 of hearts, 4 of hearts, 3 of hearts, 2 of hearts, Ace of hearts, King of hearts." Once again, Hammie called the cards drawn with complete accuracy, no matter how April shuffled the deck.

Finally, she was actually impressed. "No way. What's the trick?"

Hammie gathered the cards together and showed that there were indeed 52 cards and the backs were completely plain. "See for yourself: ordinary deck. No duplicate cards. Here, I have one more trick. Pick a card."

"Not this again," April rolled her eyes.

"Just pick one," Hammie insisted. April reluctantly picked up the 3 of hearts. "Memorize it. Good." Hammie grabbed the card and without looking at its contents, tore it up into tiny pieces before taking a lighter and reducing the pile to unrecognizable ash, much to April's confusion, "Now shuffle the deck and draw the top card."

"No way." April couldn't help but grin. It had been just made clear to her that it was an ordinary deck. 52 cards. Well, 51 now that the card she picked was destroyed.

"Go on." April complied. Sure enough, the card was the 3 of hearts, defying logic.

April softly clapped her hands, "All right, color me impressed. And you never performed that on stage?"

Hammie stashed the deck of cards back in the far pocket of his tool belt, "People aren't usually impressed with card tricks. Back home I had a bunch of prototypes: trapdoors, collapsible cages, other neat little tricks with a bit of engineering behind the smoke and mirrors, but I could never do it on stage."

"Why not?"

"I get performance anxiety pretty bad," Hammie admitted, "I don't really do well with crowds. If I could perform something without worrying about that sort of thing, I think I'd like doing stage magic though. But I'm pretty happy where I am."

"Being a captain or being a handyman?"

"Both I guess, though being a captain is far more challenging. Now it's your turn. Mind if I take a look?" Hammie reached over for the painting before April could protest, though he was careful not to damage the piece and looked it over.

The painting was of a young girl not unlike April sitting alone in a dark room looking at the floor, the whole painting done in dark shades of blue. Hammie couldn't help but give a light scowl at the picture.

"What, you don't like it or something?" April almost sounded offended.

"Oh no, it's very good." Hammie wasn't lying. The technique and composition and everything that defined a painting were all excellent. The only thing that bothered him was the subject matter. "She just looks lonely."

"Are you saying she shouldn't be?" she asked defensively.

"Well, a girl that age probably should have some family, right?" Hammie tried to reason.

"I wouldn't know. Artists draw whatever they're experienced with. I've never had a family." April took the painting and stashed it away, not really wanting to look at it right now.

"That can't be right," said Hamie, "You don't have parents somewhere?" April shrugged. "You don't miss them?"

"Never knew them, so really can't miss them."

"What about Paula and the others here?"

April scowled disapprovingly, "What about them?"

Hammie tried to put the best words to his thoughts, "Well, they seem kind of like family to me. When I first walked through the door, I kind of assumed they were anyway. Paula seems to have some motherly qualities anyway."

"You mean like how she nags everyone all the time?" April rolled her eyes.

"I mean like how she seems to genuinely care for you."

April scoffed, "We've only known each other for a few years, and personally I can't stand her. She's always butting in and trying to order me around."

"Then why don't you leave?" Hammie asked.

"Where would I go?"

"That says something right there. If you're truly unhappy here, then anywhere else would be better. But if you're sticking around, there's got to be something you appreciate here. Even if you go on island-spanning trips to sell cookies or even just to get away, you come home to a family here."

"It's not a family," April corrected.

"Isn't it, though? Paula's kind of motherly to everyone from what I've seen. Val could be a big sister, and Mary could be an aunt or…" Hammie paused to make sure the older waitress was tending the other side of the restaurant, "Maybe a very surly grandmother." That was enough to at least illicit a small chuckle out of April, which was what Hammie was hoping for. Removing some of the tension from the conversation would make sure that April didn't completely close herself off.

"But we're not related or anything."

"So?" Hammie retorted, "The woman who raised me isn't related to me at all, but I still consider her my mother. A family shouldn't be completely defined by bloodlines."

"Yeah, but she still raised you. Like I said, I've only known these people a couple years."

"Time shouldn't define those things either. Take Brody, for example, I've only known him for little over a week, but I'd consider him family of sorts."

"And him?" April pointed across the restaurant where Michael was doing a drinking contest with the two off-duty cooks and belching loudly, much to the chagrin of the other customers.

"Sure," Hammie nodded, "That's the beauty of family. You can completely dislike someone at any time and still care about them."

April remained skeptic, "And what makes you think he cares at all about you in return?"

"Blind optimism," Hammie boldly admitted, "Even if he won't admit it outright, I think he'd at least consider us all friends."

"I doubt it."

Hammie smiled softly, "That's another great thing about family. They're people that no matter what will always care about you even at the worst of times or when you absolutely despise each other otherwise, even if that relationship only exists in your head. It's a wonderful sort of illusion, just like art."

"Art is a wonderful illusion?" This was the first time April had heard that comparison before.

"Sure. I mean you could paint something depressing and still make it a wonderful and poignant piece, and it might even be realistic, but personally, as someone who's worked on comedies and tragedies alike, I prefer the optimistic point of view. It's a lot easier when things are down to look forward to the happy ending just around the corner," Hammie explained.

"But there aren't any happy endings," April protested, "Anytime there's something that looks like a happy ending, it just means there's sorrow soon after."

"Well that's a personal difference. Some look at a glass and see it as half-full or half-empty. Some see the glass and only think about the future when the glass will be completely empty. Me?" Hammie finished his glass of water in one gulp, "I know that even when the glass is completely empty, I can just go and fill it back up." He silently motioned to April's tea, offering to grab a refill.

April smiled but shook her head, "No thanks, I'm not thirsty."

"Suit yourself." Excusing himself, Hammie went up to the bar to pour himself another glass of water, since Paula was still in the back and he didn't feel like bothering the other two waitresses for a drink. Meanwhile, April took a second look at the picture she'd just done. Perhaps it would be better with some brighter colors at the least.

As Hammie was for all intents and purposes tending the counter, even though all he was doing was refilling his glass of water, the door opened and two individuals stepped inside.

On the left was a woman in a thick, ruffled full-length green dress and red hair tied back in several odd asymmetrical buns. On the right was a certain mismatch: a man in a dark gray hoodie, hood pulled up, hiding most of his face. On the front, back, and shoulders of the hoodie were stylized X's with two more parallel slashes right next to it.

"Excuse me, is this the Spider Café?" the woman asked with a clearly forced accent.

Hammie looked around to see if any of the actual staff would be here to wait on the new customers. They weren't. Paula was still in the back. Val was off in one corner laughing at a peeved customer who spilled their food while Mary as shouting and berating at a pair in the opposite corner. "I'm pretty sure that's the name on the door," he offered just before realizing that was probably too sarcastic a response for two complete strangers.

The two shared knowing glances and grins.

"Hohoho, you know what that means Mr. 12," the woman spoke to her partner with an odd laugh.

"Khrayaya, I certainly do, Ms. December," the man replied back with an even weirder laugh.

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, the two pulled out pistols and pointed them straight at Hammie, "All right, Old Baroque Works agents!" they grinned in unison, "New Baroque Works is here to take you down!"

Hammie stood stunned staring down the two barrels, freezing in his tracks even though his drink was overflowing, "Baroque who now?"

_To be continued…_

* * *

><p>Dear Wendy,<p>

I'm going to be gone on the first of June on my honeymoon. I probably won't have access to a computer so you absolutely HAVE to make sure this goes out on time. You can have as much Skyrim and Netflix and whatever else once you're done, but the last thing I want is to come home and see that the story's going to be late for a month.

-The Author


	6. Baroque Who?

"_Excuse me, is this the Spider Café?" the woman asked with a clearly forced accent._

"_I'm pretty sure that's the name on the door," he offered just before realizing that was probably too sarcastic a response for two complete strangers._

_The two shared knowing glances and grins._

"_Hohoho, you know what that means Mr. 12," the woman spoke to her partner with an odd laugh._

"_Khrayaya, I certainly do, Ms. December," the man replied back with an even weirder laugh._

_Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, the two pulled out pistols and pointed them straight at Hammie, "All right, Old Baroque Works agents!" they grinned in unison, "New Baroque Works is here to take you down!"_

_Hammie stood stunned staring down the two barrels, freezing in his tracks even though his drink was overflowing, "Baroque who now?"_

* * *

><p>"No use trying to hide it now!" the man in the hoodie grinned widely, "We already know all about your cover stories!"<p>

"I have a cover story?" Hammie asked surprisedly, two pistols aimed right between his eyes. He froze in place as those with guns pointed at them tend to do, his cup of water overflowing from a tap he was too nervous to stop.

"Don't you play dumb with us!" the girl said, this time in a high-pitched urban accent, "We got notes'n everythin'!"

"I think you're confused," Hammie started to slowly say.

"Oh really?" Ms. December put her pistol away and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Unfolding it, she scanned for the information she was looking for and read it aloud, "Here we go, Baroque Works personnel report, **Mr. 4**: Large man, blonde hair, works at the Spider Café…"

"Uh…"

"And has an extremely slow personality!" Ms. December finished proudly, "Sounds like we've got our man right here."

"But I don't work here!" Hammie protested.

Paula's voice shouted from the back, "Are you done fixing that stuff in the kitchen? Or are you going to just take all day?"

Hammie groaned at the timing as the couple in front of him grinned even more confidently than before at their target, "You were saying?"

"I really think there's a case of mistaken identity here," Hammie tried to explain.

The woman put the paper away and pulled out her pistol again, "You're comin' with us one way or another, so will it be the easy way, or our favorite way?"

"Wait, you prefer to do things the difficult way?" Hammie asked.

The two hesitated for a bit in confusion until Mr. 12 answered, "Well, yeah, the hard way's more fun!"

"Why? I'd think the easy way would be, well, easier. Aren't you just purposefully making things more difficult for yourselves?"

The two tried to work through the logic in their heads until Mr. 12 tightened his grip on the pistol, "Shut up! We're in control here! No one get in or out of this joint until we get what we came for!"

"All right, where do you want this?" Right at that moment, Brody walked into the café carrying a full barrel of freshly drawn water.

Ms. December wheeled around to point her gun at Brody, "Drop the barrel, Big Blue and nobody gets hurt!"

Brody blinked a few times and slowly put down the barrel, "Man, you weren't kidding, the customers here get really thirsty."

Mr. 12 leaned in to his cohort. "Ms. December, were there any fishmen in the report on Baroque Works?" the man whispered.

"How should I know, Mr. 12? I didn't read the darn thing!" the woman whispered loudly back.

"Excuse me," interrupted Hammie.

The two hadn't even noticed their original target creep up closer while they were busy arguing. They quickly aimed their pistols at who they thought was 'Mr. 4', "Hey, you just keep back now mist-" As they did, Hammie's hands moved quickly, and at first it seemed nothing happened, at least until the pistols in their hands literally fell apart, "-er four?"

Hammie smiled, "You had a few screws loose on your weapons. Of course now you have a lot of screws loose, but you shouldn't bring those into a family-oriented establishment anyway. Someone might get hurt."

The two agents leapt from their now compromised flanked positions and took bizarre fighting stances in the middle of the room, "Don't think you've won just yet! We've got a few more tricks up our sleeves!"

Just then Paula stepped out from the back to see what the commotion was, "Just what's going on out here?"

"Didn't you hear?" April informed from her nearby seat, "They say they're Mr. 12 and Ms. December of the New Baroque Works."

Paula blinked a few times before pouring herself a cup of coffee, watching the scene with intrigue, "Oh, well this should be very interesting."

"Do you think if we took care of these mooks that'd work off some of our debt and maybe get some supplies as well?" Brody offered.

Paula shrugged, "Knock yourselves out. Just remember, anything gets broken, you pay for it and Hammie fixes it."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful," Hammie reassured her, "Michael, did you want in on this?"

Michael was busy chugging another drink with the dark-haired cook who averted his gaze from the whole ordeal, "Sorry, I'm too busy not havin' anythin' to fire on account of me still bein' powderless. Besides, ye already got a dance partner each."

The two agents grimaced at being taken so lightly, "You're understimatin' the wrong folks! Ready, Mr. 12?"

"Let's go Ms. December!" As he spoke, Mr. 12's body started changing shape. With the sickening crunch of twisting bone and the reshaping of muscles, his wide grin grew larger into sharp, feral teeth. The visible parts of his face reshaped themselves until his nose stretched into a little black dot and striped fur sprouted along his skin. Though his arms were covered, their growth strained the fabric and his hands morphed into giant claws several feet long.

"Ah, Devil Fruits, how long has it been?" Michael said nostalgically, "That's what I love about the Grand Line, always keeps ye on yer toes. Knock 'em dead, fishstick!" he sarcastically cheered.

"Watch it, browless or you're next!" yelled Brody as he turned to Michael.

"**Badger Lunge**!" Mr. 12's animal instincts took over and he launched himself forward at the momentarily distracted fishman, tackling him as the two rolled outside, knocking the barrel of water with them and leaving Hammie to deal with whatever strange abilities Ms. December might have possessed.

* * *

><p>Outside the Spider Café, Brody and Mr. 12 rolled around in the desert sands, the barrel of water landing nearby surprisingly holding steady despite the turbulence. It took several tumbles of Brody holding off the large, fierce claws and gnashing teeth before he managed to get his legs into position. "<strong>Butterfly Kick<strong>!" With both legs, Brody launched Mr. 12 out of the grapple only for him to land on all fours on the sand. But still Brody got to his feet, not allowing himself to be distracted again. The two stared each other down waiting for the next move, which Brody was all too eager to make, thrusting forward with a charging punch, "**Hundred Brick Fist**!"

"Too slow!" Brody's punch hit air as the badger-man ducked with a laughing growl and swiped at Brody's ankles. "**Badger Sweeping Claw**!"

"Stand still, you damn rat!" Brody was launched off his feet, but was already spinning in mid-air, bringing his heel full-circle down on the badger's head, "**Flaming Ax Kick**!" Mr. 12 barely rolled out of the way as Brody's foot hit sand, but his other leg was already launching itself from a crooked stance to catch the badger-man in the gut, "**Frog Leg Strike**!" This time Brody sent the badger flying with a square hit.

"Who are you callin' a damn rat? I'm a badger-man!" Mr. 12 landed hard on his back but was up in no time, charging forward and leaping into the air towards his prey, "**Raining Honey Badger**!" Both claws outstretched, Mr. 12 pounced upon his prey…

"**Rising Thrust Kick**!" …only to receive a heel to the face as he was juggled back into the air. Brody leapt after him, his trajectory following his target's until the two were parallel. "**Coral Corral**!" Brody wrapped his arms around the unsuspecting Mr. 12 as he spun around in midair, hurling himself and the badger-man into the ground head first. "**Dive Atomic Bomb Buster**!" With a loud crash the impact kicked up a large cloud of sand.

Brody quickly got to his feet, expecting a quick counter attack or an unconscious body when the sand cloud cleared, but received neither.

Instead, when the sand cleared, there was no trace of Mr. 12 anywhere in sight. "You thought you had me, didn't you, fishman?" came the taunting voice from all around him, "But in reality you never stood a chance. If we were near the sea you might stand a chance, but here in the desert you're a fish out of water. **Badger Uppercut**!" Suddenly the sand behind Brody exploded as the badger-man slashed upward with its large claws and dug deep into Brody's backside.

Brody winced from the deep gash in his back but immediately turned to counterattack, only to find nothing there.

"But my Zoan power gives me the power to burrow wherever I damn well please." The sand exploded again at Brody's flank to catch him from behind, a second slash identical to the first.

Brody launched a kick to try and catch the burrowing pest, catching nothing but air.

Sensing a pattern, Brody tried running back towards the diner. About halfway through his spring, a claw erupted just in front of him and grabbed his leg, tripping Brody and throwing him to the ground. "You idiot! I can burrow under the diner too! It doesn't matter where you go!" Several yards away, Mr. 12 leapt out of the sand like a dolphin leaping out of the ocean claws pointed directly at the prone fishman.

Brody barely rolled out of the way, but couldn't even get to his feet before Mr. 12 repeated his attack from the opposite side. The shark fishman quickly stopped himself as Mr. 12 dove into the sand right where he would've been, but the relentless assault continued faster than Brody could get up.

Brody rolled onto his back just as the badger dove at his face, teeth grinning with claws pointed forward. "**Crab Pincer Chop**!" Brody brought both arms around, delivering fishman karate chops to both sides. Even in mid-dive, however, Mr. 12 was fast enough to react and brought both claws up to block. It was all for naught when Brody's arms followed through and wrapped around Mr. 12. The shark fishman flipped up with his captured prey and bent sharply backwards, slamming the badger-man into the ground, "**Dive Bomb Suplex**!"

Just as before, Brody might as well have been slamming his opponent into the deep end of a swimming pool as the badger-man burrowed back underground with no impact and no damage from Brody's attack.

Brody slowly took a step back, trying to anticipate Mr. 12's next attack when his foot nudged against the water barrel from earlier. It had been slightly cracked with Mr. 12's initial attack and drops of water slowly seeped their way into the sand. That was what he needed. Closing his eyes and concentrating, Brody let his feet feel the ground below him, the water slowly seeping into the earth until he felt the slight rumbling disturbance growing closer and closer. Only when he was absolutely certain that his opponent wasn't changing course did Brody pick up the barrel and slam it down at the specific spot in the sand.

Mr. 12 burst through the ground again, only to find himself breaking into a large barrel of water. His claw managed to rip off the top before he lost all strength, clinging to the edge of the barrel for support.

"All Devil Fruit users share the same weakness: water. Submerged in enough of it all your strength is gone." Brody knew the barrel was losing water fast, and soon it wouldn't be any good in stopping Mr. 12. Quickly taking his stance, he thrust his fist into the center of the barrel, not only punching the badger-man in the gut but submerging his hand in the water. His technique established, the water stopped falling out of the barrel but instead moved as an extension of Brody's arm, which launched upward in a fierce uppercut. "**Fishman Karate: Shore-ryu ken**!" Instead of leaking out, the water erupted like a geyser throwing the badger-man with it. His Devil Fruit power negated, Mr. 12 felt the full brunt of the attack as he crashed down in a similar hole near the front of the diner.

The tank-dachsund Lassoo slowly sauntered up to the incapacitated Mr. 12, raised a leg, and gave its own little contribution to the victory.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, inside the Spider Café, another confrontation was taking place.<p>

"You wouldn't hit a dame, wouldya?" Ms. December said with a sarcastic smirk.

"I don't want to, but you seemed pretty keen on shooting me in the face earlier. I mean if you left right now, I guess we could forget about it," Hammie calmly explained.

Her opponent's nonchalance turned Ms. December's confident grin into a frustrated grimace, "Yer damn right you can just fugeddabout it, because I still got all the advantage!" Ms. December placed her hands over her head in the same manner as a ballerina's pirouette, "Firin' **Trim Harpoons**!" At her command, out of the ruffles of her dress, various hooks attached to thick barbed wire shot out in all directions. Those patrons who were still cowering in fear were under the safety of their tables. Those who were all too used to this sort of thing, like the staff, merely stepped out of the way if they were in one of the paths of the hooks. Paula grimaced as one of the wires shattered her cup of coffee and she started making a new one. She glared crossly at Hammie.

"Hey! You know I'm the one who's got to fix all of this, right?" Hammie pleaded.

"I'll save ya the trouble then! There won't be anythin' left to fix!" Suddenly her green ruffled dress started to smooth out on its own, transforming into a large, metallic cone with spiral grooves, the barbed wires still attached. "**Drill Drill Reverse Spin**!" Her lower torso, now a giant drill, started spinning rapidly, pulling in the barbed wires bit by bit as she spun around. "Hope yer enjoyin' the show, 'cause this is one that'll bring the house down!" Ms. December laughed as she spun around, until suddenly she lost all traction in most of her wires and the last pulled her instead, throwing her into the wall and stopping her spin, "Wait, what?" She slowly stood up from the small crater she left in the wooden wall to find all but one of the wires still attached, "What just happened?"

Hammie pocketed the wire cutters back in their compartment on his tool belt. "Now we're all very impressed with your little talent so how about we all just calm down and start talking this out."

"Yer patrinizin' me, ain't ya?"

"No! Well, not really. Kind of, I guess?" admitted Hammie.

"I'll show ya what happens when ya make funov someone with a Devil Fruit power!" Ms. December said as she started winding her arm up for an attack.

"Please don't. It's just more work for me later."

"**Drill Baby, Drill**!" Ms. December dashed forward, and as she did so, her entire arm morphed into a giant drill as large as she was, spinning so rapidly the diner felt like the center of a tornado. Hammie might've been able to jump out of the way, but he looked behind him to see the woman cowering with her children. Instead, he pulled out his screwdriver and thrust it forward, catching the drill on the point head-on, his other arm bracing the one holding the tool. "Ya think that dinky little thing can stop my Drill Baby?" Ms. December laughed confidently, figuring she'd already won this battle.

"Oh wait, I almost forgot, I'm supposed to come up with names for these, right?" said Hammie in a sudden realization.

"Don'tya be ignorin' me!" Ms. December shouted as she doubled the power on her Drill to break through the surprisingly tough tool Hammie was using, "Just who the hell do you think I am?"

"A very spirited lady who's making more of a mess than she really needs to in order to make her point," Hammie scolded. Bracing his arm, he turned the screwdriver in the opposite direction of the drill in one powerful movement, "**Spiral Torque**!" Ms. December's drill ripped itself apart in the opposite direction as she was thrown backward by the force, her arm a twisted, mangled mess as she slammed into the wall. "That still feels kind of silly."

* * *

><p>Both of their opponents defeated, Brody dragged Mr. 12, having reverted back to human form, back in the diner where Hammie was just finishing up tying up Ms. December.<p>

"Not bad for your first Grand Line tousle, Captain," complimented Brody.

"Oh yes, I did a great job beating up a girl in a weird dress. I sure am confident about my abilities now," Hammie replied with a melancholy sarcasm before turning to the two defeated agents, "Now look. Really, I'm not this Mr. 4 or whoever you're looking for."

The two agents looked at each other, wondering if the man in front of them would have anything to gain by lying at this point. "You sure about that?" asked Ms. December.

"Totally. I've never even heard of Baroque Works."

"They were a kind of criminal organization a couple years ago, from what I heard," Brody informed him, "Business fronts, esponiage, sabotage, the whole picture. They even tried to take over a kingdom, but they failed, got exposed, and disbanded."

"Not quite, fishy!" corrected a surprisingly bold-sounding Mr. 12, "You see, when all the top brass of Baroque Works got disbanded two years ago, it left a lot of businesses they used as fronts without a manager. So the World Government took over and established the new, government-operated Baroque Works."

"That's right! You just attacked federal agents! Don't you feel stupid? If you let us go now, I might put in a good word on your behalf," said Ms. December as she stuck out her tongue.

"Well that makes even less sense. What are you doing going after your own agents? And how could you mistake me for one of them?" Hammie piled on with the questions. He'd never paid much attention to politics and news when he worked back on the Titania with the rest of the theater troupe, and now it was kind of biting him in the ass.

"Moron! Ow!" said Mr. 12 as Brody gave him a slap across the head, "Don't you get it yet? We're the good Baroque Works, on the side of law and justice, and they're the evil criminal Baroque Works!"

"Who? The staff here?" Hammie scoffed, "Yeah, right, like a couple of cooks and a few waitresses could be cold-blooded criminals. Right?" Unfortunately for Hammie, his jests were met with dead silence, "Um, right?" Paula was silent. April was silent. The perky waitress and the old shrew were silent. The dark-haired cook stood up and at the same time the larger blonde one entered back in from outside. The wheels in Hammie's head turned as he noticed the second cook's large physique, blonde hair, and the fact that he'd barely said two words since Hammie had arrived. "Oh," he said in slow realization, "OH."

Brody said nothing, but tensed up as he wasn't sure exactly what the 'real' Baroque Works' reactions would be.

"What?" Michael looked around confused, "Did I miss something?" He did.

There was dead silence throughout the room except for a faint whistling noise Hammie only assumed was a tea kettle. Suddenly, both of the cooks lunged forward, the dark-haired man at Brody and the larger blond man at Hammie, who could move surprisingly fast for someone who took a solid minute to say any given sentence. Both put up their dukes in defense only to be grabbed and pushed out of the way as the faint whistling sound suddenly grew louder.

"Looooooooook oooooooout," said the blond (who Hammie could now safely assume was Mr. 4) very slowly as the Baroque Works agents pushed them out of the way. Suddenly, something large crashed through the ceiling right where Hammie and Brody were standing just moments before they'd been tackled out of the way.

"Idiots! You think we came alone to take on Baroque Work's top brass? We're just the scouts! These are the big guns." Mr. 12 grinned as the smoke cleared around what appeared to be a giant iron coffin or some sort of heavy storage container with a V written on the front.

"**Mr. 5** and **Ms. May**!" said Ms. December with pomp and circumstance as she introduced… whatever it was.

_To be continued..._


	7. Some Confusion With Names

"_Looooooooook oooooooout," said the blond (who Hammie could now safely assume was Mr. 4) very slowly as the Baroque Works agents pushed them out of the way. Suddenly, something large crashed through the ceiling right where Hammie and Brody were standing just moments before they'd been tackled out of the way._

"_Idiots! You think we came alone to take on Baroque Work's top brass? We're just the scouts! These are the big guns." Mr. 12 grinned as the smoke cleared around what appeared to be a giant iron coffin or some sort of heavy storage container with a V written on the front._

"_**Mr. 5** and **Ms. May**!" said Ms. December with pomp and circumstance as she introduced… whatever it was._

* * *

><p>"I see a box," Hammie noted. As he did so, the smoke which was supposedly clearing seconds before suddenly got thicker, "With a fog machine apparently." The lid of the box slowly creaked open to reveal a humanoid figure completely wrapped in bandages, "Now I see a mummy in a box."<p>

"Is this one of those gag gifts where you start with a big box and you keep unwrapping layer after layer until all you're left with a gift certificate?" asked Brody.

The bandaged man reached behind him to throw on a thick red and yellow overcoat and a familiar red helmet. "Now I see a mummy in a box in a fireman's outfit. That I'm probably going to have to punch until it stops moving," Hammie sighed, "Why is everything so damn weird around here?"

"That's the Grand Line for you," the dark-haired cook stepped in front of Hammie and Brody to face the 'New Mr. 5', "You did your part, now it's my turn. There's only room for one Mr. 5 in this town. Ain't that right, **Miss Valentine**?"

"Right behind you, **Mr. 5**." The blond waitress smiled as she pulled out a maroon trenchcoat from the closet and a yellow umbrella, tossing the trenchcoat to the dark-haired cook. The original Mr. 5 turned to Paula, watching with blank emotion from behind the counter, "Sorry, **Miss Doublefinger**, the cat's already out of the bag, and I just can't stand by and watching someone take my name and make fool out of me." Paula, or as her other name indicated, Miss Doublefinger, nodded in acknowledgment. The charade was up. "That all right with you, _Mr. 5_" he emphasized the last part with a sneer.

The bandaged man cracked his neck and spoke with a gravelly voice, "Wouldn't have it any other way. Ready, Ms. May?"

Just then the fog previously providing ambiance to the coffin materialized into a petit, pale-haired woman in simple, gray-stained attire holding several cigarettes in both hands. "I may be," the woman responded noncommittally.

* * *

><p>Hammie and Brody stood on the sidelines of the diner as requested. They were plenty tired dealing with the other two anyway. Instead Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine stared down Mr. 5 and Ms. May, which brought an interesting problem to this little fight.<p>

"So," the 'old' Mr. 5 broke the silence, "If we're both Mr. 5 this is going to get messed up really fast."

The bandaged 'new' Mr. 5 shrugged, "I have no attachment to that title. It's just something my employer decided."

"You got another name?"

"My name was lost a long time ago. For the short time you're going to be alive, you can call me the **Chief**."

"How pretentious. A giant wad of toilet paper wants to be promoted Mr. 5 to the Chief."

The Chief held up a clenched, bandaged fist, trembling in what appeared to be anger, but the bandaged man's emotions were hard to read with his face being completely covered, "This condition of mine wasn't exactly my idea," Chief's voice grew harsher and angrier, "I don't think you have any right to complain. After all, this body's your handiwork."

"Not sure what that means," Mr. 5 said as he started idly picking his nose, not caring what the Chief was talking about.

The Chief's voice grew with frustration at being ignored, "Oh come on, surely you have some idea, given your abilities and appetite for rampant destruction!"

Hoping his growing rage might be an opportunity for him to catch the Chief off-guard, Mr. 5 took the speck from his nose and flicked it quickly at the still ranting Chief. "**Nez-Palm Cannon**!" To Hammie and the others who didn't know Mr. 5, this seemed like a bizarre first move to make; a taunt more than anything else. But a split second later the speck violently exploded much to everyone else's surprise. Hammie and his crew stared shocked, it seemed like a direct hit. "Maybe you should get some of those dirty old rags out of your eyes," Mr. 5 said nonchalantly.

As the smoke cleared though, there wasn't the wounded body of the Chief like Mr. 5 had hoped for, but instead the lid of the coffin had been drawn back enough to block the attack. More surprisingly, the large explosion didn't even seem to scratch the surface of the coffin.

"Where was I? Oh right, the part about rampant destruction!" The Chief suddenly charged forward with the giant metal coffin lid-first as a full body shield. "**Fireproof Buster**!"

"Miss Valentine!" Mr. 5 called out to his partner.

"Here to assist!" Miss Valentine leapt high into the air, higher than a normal person should have been able as she attempted to center herself on top of the charging Chief. Suddenly, the Chief's partner lost her solid form, turning into a column of smoke that filled Miss Valentine's umbrella and sent her soaring out the hole in the ceiling. "Hey!"

Enough of Ms. May's head appeared so she could speak. "With your ability, you may change your weight to become light as a feather or as heavy as a ton of… well, I may guess a ton of bricks weighs just as much as a ton of anything." Part of the smoke focused into a large fist which punched Miss Valentine quite the distance, following her as it did, "But the lighter you are the more you may be tossed around, and the heavier you are you may move less."

Miss Valentine coughed at the smoke filling the air around her, "For someone named Ms. May you sure don't smell like spring flowers."

"There may be more to it than that. Maybe the smell may do you some good," Ms. May said as her smoky form enveloped Miss Valentine's head, hoping to suffocate her. In this form, there was nothing Miss Valentine could do except flail about.

At least that's what Ms. May before Miss Valentine's leg shot up, the heel of her shoe catching Ms. May in her surprisingly physical gut. Both plummeted to the ground, Miss Valentine controlling her descent with her power, and Ms. May only barely resuming her smoke form long enough to avoid crashing into the desert.

"Seastone stilletos," Ms. May realized, "I may not have been expecting those. I assume it may only be lining the bottom of the shoes since your Devil Fruit is still fully active."

"I've been caught unprepared before," Miss Valentine bragged as she showed off her designer heels, "I learned my lesson. Not to mention they totally go with my dress."

"I may confiscate those for myself once we've captured the lot of you."

"You can pry them off of my cold dead feet," Miss Valentine grinned with her challenge.

"I may," said Ms. May without any visible emotion as the two flew back up into the air to continue their fight.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Nez-Palm Cannon<strong>!" Mr. 5 flicked another freshly picked explosive black speck at the charging Chief as he dashed backward. With little room to dodge inside the diner, the giant metal coffin busted through the explosion without a scratch, slamming into Mr. 5 who had little room to dodge inside the increasingly cramped café.

"Really? Explosive snot? That's his power?" Brody couldn't help but be skeptical at the bizarre display.

Michael on the other hand, trembled with excitement and fascination, "THAT IS THE COOLEST BLOODY THING EVER!"

Brody sweatdropped. "You would be impressed, wouldn't you?"

"That's not all I can do," Mr. 5 grunted having just belly-flapped a slab of iron. He placed one palm on the surface of the lid as his other hand grabbed it from the side, "**Double Palm Bomb**!" Both hands exploding in quick succession, one slowed the coffin enough for Mr. 5 to get far enough back before they hit a wall, and the other blew the lid of the coffin open, exposing the Chief. "**Punching Bomb**!" Quickly rearing back his arm, Mr. 5 delivered a punch square to the Chief's jaw.

Right before the fist connected with the resulting explosion, the Chief leapt up and flipped onto the top of his iron coffin, some of his bandages still connecting him to compartments on the inside. Although it was hard to tell, for a moment it seemed he was smiling.

Bandages shot out from the side of the coffin and wrapped around the lid, slamming the whole thing shut with Mr. 5 stuck on the inside. After the Chief landed on the diner floor, the coffin tipped over with a loud slam. It shook with several explosions from the inside, no doubt from Mr. 5 struggling to get out. "Don't bother. That crate is designed to store and transport highly volatile military-grade explosives. You could fill it to the brim with dynamite and you wouldn't break through if the whole thing blew up at once."

Pulling on the bandages still attached to the coffin, Mr. 5 lifted the coffin over his head, breaking through the ceiling with ease, and smashing the coffin down on the opposite side. On impact it rumbled with several large explosions. "I know you're immune to explosions, but how about the raw impact of being tossed into a bomb-proof case? **Fireproof Cocktail**!"

Again the Chief tossed the coffin over his head, breaking up more of the ceiling and slamming the coffin back down with another loud explosion from within. "**Fireproof Flail**!" Then he swung it around, forcing everyone who wasn't already to duck below as the coffin smashed several booths and part of the counter, "How much longer do you think you can hold out? **Fireproof**..."

He brought the coffin around for a third and possibly final slam, but this time it never reached the ground. When the Chief looked up, someone was holding the coffin at the other end, having caught it before it reached the ground. "Kid, stay out of this. It doesn't concern you," he warned.

"Doesn't concern me?" Hammie grimaced, "Do you have any idea who has to **CLEAN ALL OF THIS UP?**" he yelled about their surroundings, the diner slowly being broken apart piece by piece by all the fighting.

"I don't give a damn about the complaints of some janitor!" the Chief growled.

Hammie slammed the coffin down on the ground, the whiplash of the bandages tossing the Chief into the air and snapping them, releasing his grip on the coffin. Taking out a hammer, he quickly pried off the heavy iron hinges and locks, snapping them like twigs. Finally, an explosion threw the lid of the coffin off and Mr. 5 woozily stood up, his entire body a bruised, bloody mess. "Thanks, handyman," Mr. 5 gave a slightly toothless grin, "But I'll take it from here." Reaching into his coat pockets, Mr. 5 withdrew two revolver pistols.

"No… NO! I've come too far to lose here!" The Chief forced himself up and threw both arms forward as several bandages launched forward and wrapped around Mr. 5, binding his arms to his sides. "I will NOT be denied my revenge!"

"Don't know what your deal is," Mr. 5 reared back and hocked a loogie across the room at the Chief's chest, impacting with a loud explosion, "but see I don't really care." Opening the chambers on both revolvers, he lightly blew into them both before snapping back into place.

"I take it back, THAT'S the coolest thing ever!" Michael cheered with excitement.

"Hey, I didn't save you so you could blow up the rest of the place!" Hammie complained.

"Don't worry, Mr. Handyman," Mr. 5 said as he pointed both pistols square at his target. "I won't miss. **Breeze-Breath Bomb**!" He shot the volley of 'air bullets' all square into the Chief's chest, Twelve explosions in all as the Chief managed to stay on his feet only long enough to bear the full brunt of the attack before collapsing. Mr. 5 holstered his two pistols and stepped out of the heavy iron coffin toward his defeated foe, "And that's why there's only one Mr. 5."

Hammie sighed, "At least he didn't manage to destroy all of the roof." He looked up at the heavily damaged roof just before Ms. Valentine came crashing down on top of her prey, destroying the last remaining patch. "How would you feel about an open air café?" Hammie asked Paula.

"All right tie them up nice and tight, and keep an eye on them. I'm sure whatever they have to say will be very interesting," Paula said casually as if nothing happened the rest of her 'staff' moved to do so.

"I don't think that will be acceptable, Miss Doublefinger," came the new voice. Everyone quickly turned to see two patrons from before: one a tiny old balding man with thick glasses, the other a large grinning drunkard of a woman. The woman was holding an unconscious April. The man was holding a pistol to her head.

Paula's calm demeanor snapped, "Let her go now or else!"

"Or else nothing," the man replied quickly but calmly, "I know all about your abilities, so I pray that every part of you stays normal, Miss Doublefinger, otherwise I might get twitchy. The same goes for the rest of you," he glanced around the room. "Miss Valentine's Day, please stay on the ground. Miss Merry Christmas, please stay above it. Mr. 4, Mr. 5, hands in the air. I don't want to see you so much as breathe in this direction. Who knows how what your volatile power might do if it accidentally hit Miss Goldenweek here instead. In fact, why don't we just have everyone keep their hands in the air where I can see them?" Pulling out a second pistol with his other hand, the old man pointed around the room until everyone, staff, patrons, and Hammie's crew, complied. "Very good. Now isn't that better than all that disruptive fighting? Much better ambiance."

"So, which number are you?" Paula grimaced.

"In the New Baroque Works, I would be Mr. 4 and this would be Ms. April."

"Wait, I'm confused," Hammie remarked, "I thought I was supposed to be Mr. 4. Or is it that guy over there?" Hammie motioned to the large, slow cook. "And I thought she was April?" he motioned again to the girl who'd gotten them here in the first place, now an unconscious hostage.

The hostage-taker sighed, "You know, I understand my employer's motivations for keeping the same title scheme as the original Baroque Works, but in this instance it really is more confusing than it needs to be. I would be Mr. 4 and my partner here would be Ms. April, but I think we should make things a little clearer for everyone involved, don't you think? Now let's see," the 'new' Mr. 4 tapped his foot in thought, "I don't really use a formal name often. Just the **Old Man** will do for now, in similar fashion to my compatriot, the Chief."

"Now to clear up any confusion regarding the rest of the room. The explosive man there is Mr. 5 while the young blonde is **Miss Valentine's Day**. The large man who hasn't said much is Mr. 4 and the lovely woman over there would be **Miss Merry Christmas**." The last comment provoked several confused reactions from everyone else in the room as he seemed to be referring to the old shrew of a waitress Mary, who visibly blushed in surprise. "The girl currently under my care is **Miss Goldenweek**, and the one known as Paula would be **Miss Doublefinger**."

"Now on our side, we have **Mr. 12** and **Ms. December**. No confusion there. Then there's our Mr. 5, who I will agree to calling 'the **Chief**' for now to make things simpler, and his partner **Ms. May**. And then of course there's me, the **Old Man** and my partner **Ms. April**. I think that should be a little clearer now, don't you think?"

Paula's fingers twitched, looking for the best possible opening so no one would get hurt, "So what happens now? If you're planning on killing us don't think…"

"Oh no, we've already seen how that turns out," the Old Man chuckled courteously, "No, I think I have enough for a report to my superiors, so I'll be taking my subordinates back to our employer. Oh, and the girl for insurance purposes."

"If you think that I'll let you walk out of here with her…"

"I wouldn't presume as such, no. Ms. April, if you'd please do the honors?"

"MAH PLEASHURE MISHTA FUR!" the woman bellowed loudly in a drunken roar before extending her free arm, "**APRIL SHOWER**!" Her arm morphed into an orangey, brown, frothing liquid and spewed forward, engulfing the entire diner, patrons and all.

The hostage-taker identifying himself as the Old Man pulled out a small antique watch and counted the seconds as the deluge of pungent liquid, flooded everything in sight. "Okay, that's quite enough, Ms. April. We wouldn't want anyone to accidentally die of alcohol poisoning, now would we? I trust you can carry what needs to be carried?"

"SHURE THING, MISHTA FUR!" Ms. April saluted with a nearly toothless grin as she picked up the other four soaking Baroque Works agents and slung them over her shoulder, Miss Goldenweek lay out on top.

The Old Man walked up to the various patrons, noting their varying states of alcohol-induced unconsciousness. "I do wonder if they serve a good hangover cure here." He pulled out a wad of bills and meticulously counted out an exact but still generous tip, placing it by Paula's comatose head on the counter. As he walked out, something managed to grab him by the leg.

"Won't… let you… go…" Hammie managed to grunt out, somehow managing to stave off blacking out.

The Old Man sighed, "Ms. April, it appears we have someone who can hold more liquor than average. If you would kindly take care of this, please?"

"SHURE THING, MISHTA FUR!" Ms. April sauntered over after fixing herself a pint to go with one hand and sprayed Hammie down with booze from her Devil Fruit.

As Hammie was slowly losing consciousness along with the rest of the diner, the Old Man leaned in as far as he could without getting wet and spoke, "You are quite the wild card to show up on the day of our operation, Mr. Handyman. Just be glad I only kill for money and you aren't important enough to have any enemies who want you dead yet. Otherwise I'd eliminate you right here and now. Take my advice. Forget what transpired here and be on your merry way once you shake off the awful hangover you're going to wake up with. There's nothing for you here." As the alcohol forced its way into Hammie's system, his eyes slowly drooped shut as he lost consciousness.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>:

All right, time to get this update off. Wendy, I hope you enjoyed your time off since I've been out of the office?

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Huh?

"It's been over two months since the last update!"

What? That can't be right, we're on a minimum once-per-month schedule here.

"But you didn't post anything last month?"

No, I got the chapter ready before I left on my honeymoon. You did get the note, right?

"..."

RIGHT?

"There was a note?"

Damn it, now the updates are late. Oh well, at least there's a bunch of them. Did you at least remember to get all the profiles done?

"If by all you mean zero then yes."

-_-'

Profile next month I guess...


End file.
